


Seascape

by corullance



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, I dunno just pirates, M/M, Violence, and the rest of the crew - Freeform, but nothing too graphic, spones - Freeform, the Narada is a pirate ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 10:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3848296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corullance/pseuds/corullance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. McCoy is about to start a new life across the sea. His plans abruptly change when he is kidnapped by the infamous pirates of the Enterprise.</p>
<p>Part of a Big Bang a long time ago which means it comes with:<br/>Some fabulous art: wootsauce.livejournal.com/577505.html<br/>And an amazing mix: community.livejournal.com/yodayoga/1831.html</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OK! Full disclosure, I wrote this like, oh god, maybe FIVE years ago?? It was for a big bang pretty near when the first reboot movie came out. So yeah, it's pretty old. It was the first fic I actually posted online *nostalgia* I also procrastinated it so I had to do the last 10k in about a day. :O
> 
> Buuut, I figured I'd move it from lj to here, just to consolidate. But if you're reading my other fics on here, don't expect anywhere near the same quality, but in any case, enjoy! :D

The wind was with them and the skies were clear and the sea was sparkling and winking at them with more enthusiasm than even the stars in the night sky. It was one of the more beautiful days they had had in about a month, but it was one that Captain James Tiberius Kirk of the good ship Enterprise could not enjoy as fully and with as much giddy abandon as it deserved. His youngest crewmember who was also incidentally the navigator, was desperately ill and even before that, their luck had been nothing short of abominable.

 

                  It had started when Dr. Boyce had died in their last firefight, killed instantly by a bullet through the back of his neck, severing the spinal chord. Jim had never been able to convince the man to stay below and wait it out before he started caring for the wounded, that it was dangerous on deck and a dead doctor doesn’t do anyone any good. They’d argued the issue in circles and Jim had never won until now. The loss still angered him. At least the opposing crew had been pirates—Jim had slaughtered them without guilt.

 

                  From there things just got worse. A hurricane had pushed them off course and damaged their maps. They had been forced to chart a course through unknown waters with a battered Enterprise, making their way basically in the dark, eventually ending up in Northern Africa of all places, where half the crew had been captured and sold into slavery and only a third had been retrievable. That had not been an enjoyable experience and they had said farewell to that port as fast as they possibly could, just not fast enough to prevent Chekov from contracting some sort of disease. Now, without a doctor they couldn’t help him, didn’t know if it was communicable and, frankly, they were all damn tired. They had been about ready to give up, not that anyone wanted to see Chekov die but there was nothing they could have done, when a smaller Navy brigantine had been spotted off the port aft. There was the slightest of possibilities that they had a surgeon on board, very, very slight, but it wasn’t an opportunity they were willing to abandon so they were giving chase.

 

                  The little brigantine was fast, but the wind was behind the Enterprise and apparently the brigantine’s captain was either unwilling to change course or too stupid to know that with the wind at her back, the Enterprise was faster. Either way, Jim thanked God for small mercies; Chekov didn’t have much time left. As it was they be too late already. Jim refused to dwell on this.

 

                  They were making good headway; if they were lucky, a word Jim now almost winced to use, they would be coming up beside the brigantine within three hours.

 

                  He half hoped they would put up a fight even though they were clearly outclassed and outgunned. Not that he wanted to put his crew in any more unnecessary danger or, with their luck, accidentally kill the brigantine’s doctor if they had one. No, Captain James T. Kirk was simply in the mood for destruction.

                 

                  Jim sighed and knocked back a glass of bourbon. “Am I doing the right thing here? I mean of course we must try to save Chekov, but the odds of a Navy brigantine having its own medic…with a crew that small the Navy would never assign them one of their precious doctors. There’s hardly any chance at all…am I really making a sensible decision or am I just basing my decision on false hope?”

 

                  “We are desperate men, Captain, and as such we can not afford to overlook any possible solutions.” His first mate replied smoothly. Jim turned and attempted to read his expression, but as always his face gave off as much emotion as a clump of seaweed.

 

                  “Yes, Spock, but is it wrong to give the crew such false hope? I feel like I’m leading them on.” He mused out loud, strong calloused fingers absentmindedly circling the rim of his glass.

 

                  “The crew know the odds and understand and we shall all miss him.”

 

                  Jim’s hands clenched around the glass and his jaw twitched and realigned itself.

 

                  “Don’t talk about him” Jim said quietly, the words forcing their way through his chest and our his mouth, “As if he were already dead.”

 

                  “Yes, sir.” Spock replied, slipping out of Jim’s cabin, his voice expressing the barest hint of sorrow, perhaps an apology and…had it been pity?

 

                  So now he knew. Spock had already given up hope. He thought that Chekov was as good as dead already. Jim drew one arm back, the glass tight in his fist and only barely restrained himself from launching it at the cabin door. He opted instead to take a few calming breaths, straighten his vest and scarf and having arranged himself satisfactorily, he strode out onto the deck.

 

“Uhura.” He yelled over the roar of the waves and wind.

 

She gave him a snappy salute, “Yessir?”

 

“Find the flags and raise the ‘medical assistance’ flag. In fact, get them all out. I’d like this to go as smoothly as possible.”

 

“Yessir.” She replied, “Shall I lower our usual colors, Captain?”

 

He glanced up at the black flag with the white symbol that looked almost like an upside down and lopsided shield. It was their signature.

 

“No,” he replied after a moment of contemplation, “I want them to know we’re being sincere, not trying to hide anything.”

 

“Yes sir.” She said and headed off.

 

Jim wandered over to the rail and leaned out watching the small silhouette of the brigantine grow slowly larger. He stroked the gracefully curved wood under his hands and transferred a kiss from his palm to the beam as he pushed himself away from the railing.

 

Enterprise would take care of them.

 

 --

 

The sky was a vivid shade of blue- the kind that poets and songs are always lauding. The crew of the Farragut was in fine spirits, whistling and singing raunchy songs as they worked. The few passengers there were had all emerged from below deck to enjoy the sunshine and fresh air.

 

Leonard H. McCoy took a swig from his flask and glared at the glistening vista of water. He hated the sea. He hated ships. He hated the fact that his flask wasn’t near big enough to get him stinking drunk. His only consolation was that he isn’t prone to seasickness.

 

He didn’t even really know what he was doing here. He must’ve lost his mind. Somehow it had seemed like a good idea at the time. After the whole scandal with his wife—dammit, he slammed his flask down on the railing (and now his hand hurt too)—ex-wife and the judge, he couldn’t get away from the stares and the whispers fast enough. He had been unable and unwilling to resist the urge that told him to runrunrun.

 

So here he was on a ship of Her Majesties’ Navy with all of his worldly possessions (not many, since after the divorce) on his way to the bloody colonies of all places with not even enough whiskey to get him blind, stinking drunk.

 

A dolphin threw itself out of the water, flipping artfully and sinking back into the water by the ship’s bow.

 

He cursed it. The sailors near him grinned at each other. Apparently his enthusiastic attitude and cheery disposition had become an often-tapped source of entertainment for the crew. He hadn’t been sure if he should be flattered or indignant, but when they offered him a share of the grog (disgusting, but alcoholic and he would happily take what he could get) he had settled for simply grateful.

 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flurry of muted movements, contained, but tense and quick. He turned. There was a group of two sailors, which quickly grew to four having an intense conversation, which involved equal parts gesturing and frustration. And wasn’t that the… he shot a glance at the crows’ nest, which was currently empty which even McCoy knew wasn’t supposed to happen, ever, which meant that something had gone so wrong that the watchmen was willing to risk sever punishment for leaving his post just to keep the knowledge contained and damn it all if he hadn’t known this trip would be the death of him. Sea travel was dangerous.

 

He wondered if they would notice him sidling towards their conversation or if a direct approach would be better received. Considering the threatening flare the boatswain had just shot at him for simply looking, he was willing to assume that no approach would be better received.

 

He frowned when the boatswain led the man who had been on watch in the crows’ nest down to below deck. Something had clearly spooked the watchman, which McCoy was inclined to take as a bad sign. As far as he knew, which granted wasn’t very much about sea travel, a reaction like that could only mean one of two things (or hell, it occurred to McCoy, maybe both and wouldn’t that be just his luck); a storm big enough to present a danger or pirates. He wasn’t really even sure which would be worse.

 

McCoy leaned out over the railing took a swig from his flask and scanned the horizon. Nothing.

 

It was maybe ten minutes later that the passengers were bundled off below deck. McCoy just sighed and wondered if God was laughing at him. He was one of the last to be escorted down because he had been standing away from the rest of the passengers, who had remained loosely clumped around the bulkhead that led below.

 

A sailor with whom he had previously played cards walked over to him.

 

“We’re going below deck?” he asked the man, looking past him to see the Captain arguing with the boatswain.

 

The sailor mumbled something about how having the passengers on deck was a distraction to the sailors and…and the Captain and the boatswain were having their conversation right next to the bulkhead.

 

“Yeah,” McCoy said absently, “I was getting kind of sick of the fresh air anyway.” He said, sidestepping the sailor and approaching the bulkhead and the arguers in what he hoped was an unassuming manner.

 

He slowed as he approached them attempting to look casual. He caught a few words of the conversation but the wind blew many of their words away.

 

“can’t…passengers…panic”

 

“crew…Enterprise…heard things…medical…catch us”

 

“but…find out…don’t…aid…if…they want”

 

“going to catch…either…fight…never…let…what they want”

 

Well that sounded goddamned apocalyptic and he still didn’t have enough whiskey.

 

So a pirate ship called Enterprise was after them and, apparently, they were bad news, but what was that thing about medical—medical aid? If a fight broke out, yes, they would surely need medical attention, but it sounded like they were going to be captives of pirates by that point anyway. It almost sounded like the pirates wanted medical attention.

 

McCoy snorted. Did pirates even do that? They’d probably happily slit a crewmate’s throat and take his belongings or position and if he was sick, that just made it easier. Maybe there was an epidemic on board, but that didn’t make sense either. They’d probably just throw an ill person overboard to keep the disease from spreading, though it probably wouldn’t work if they took all their belonging’s, and God knew even non-criminal sailors were totally and unfortunately ignorant of hygiene.

 

Well there was nothing he could do about the pirates catching them. He was a doctor, not a sailor.

 

Fortunately, no one else on board knew that and hell if he was going to intentionally deliver himself into the hands of a bunch of diseased, bloodthirsty pirates. Maybe if they threatened someone he would give in, but they couldn’t possibly think that a ship this size would merit its own doctor. Chances were that they didn’t need medical aid at all, that they were more interested in your typical pillage and plunder type thing. He sat on his bunk politely ignoring his roommate who, in turn, ignored him; they had an understanding.

 

McCoy drew a hand wearily through his hair and heaved a sigh.

 

His flask was empty.

 

\---

 

They were coming up fast on the brigantine, which had submitted to allowing them to board. They had had a fierce debate over the matter via the flag codes which had gone something like this:

 

E: in need of medical attention

B: in need of medical attention, my ass

E: You know we’re going to catch up with you anyway

B: we don’t have medical aid. Go away

E: Ha ha- No. Prepare to be boarded

B:…fine, but no funny business.

 

All in all Jim was rather pleased as they had succeeded in not only waylaying the vessel but also cutting down on both the time and effort they would have had to expend otherwise. This was just so much more convenient. Underlying this smug satisfaction, however, was a creeping feeling of apprehension. As soon as they found out whether or not the ship had a medic they would simultaneously learn the outcome of Chekov’s fate. Jim brooded.

 

Meanwhile Spock took care of most of the preparations, coordinating with the brigantine, which had now been identified as the Farragut. It was a well-kept ship, which was to be expected of almost any Navy ship, but it was nothing special. It didn’t have the graceful sweeping lines of the Enterprise. It had no aesthetic value. It was purely functional, which had its own allure and beauty in some ways. It was nothing near the Enterprise, but Jim could see it was a good ship.

 

He watched the Navy crew working, lashing the boats together, working on the sails. They were clearly tense, which was understandable seeing as how pirates had waylaid them, but they were good sailors. They were probably less than fair soldiers. It was uncommon for a brigantine of this size to be attacked. There was little of value on them, mostly they carried messages and scouted. That was why the crews typically leaned more towards the sailing end of the Navy rather than focusing on the fighting. They certainly made a tidy little crew and they functioned as a team clearly familiar with each other. Jim tried to muster up some approval, but was not really in the mood for being approving.

 

“The men are ready to board, Captain. Everything is prepared.” Spock said, flowing silently to his side. Jim turned towards the gangplank. He could see the Farragut’s Captain standing with something of a welcoming party, although Jim wasn’t inclined to think that there would be anything welcoming about them. They bore swords, but forbore firearms as far as Jim could tell, which was encouraging.

 

“Well we had better not keep them waiting.” Jim replied giving Spock a hearty back slap and striding over to the gangplank.

 

“Indeed Captain.” Spock replied, quirking an eyebrow and almost smiling.


	2. Chapter 2

When Jim got to the boarding party which, besides him consisted of Uhura, Reynolds, Williams, Farrow and Johns, he found Sulu standing nervously next to them with an urgent pinched look to his face. The man was paler than usual having been spending most of his free time below deck. There was a kind of horror settled into his features, especially the atypical frown lines.

 

“Captain…” he stammered, his voice raw and his eyes red, “I…I…”

 

Jim turned away from him to face the Farragut and simply said, “Permission granted.”

 

Sulu snapped a salute off but it felt broken and Sulu clearly couldn’t decide what to feel besides fear and gratitude. Jim figured of all people, Sulu had the right to know as soon as they did.

 

Jim gave the group another cursory glance, noting that only the pilot and translator had forgone pistols as he himself has. The arrangement made sense. The threat was there, just behind the olive branch.

 

He went first leaping nimbly up to the gangplank, flanked by Uhura and Sulu. The others followed them.

 

The atmosphere was tense aboard the Farragut. Everything on the Farragut was tense, especially the Captain.

 

“Welcome to the Farragut,” he managed to squeeze out between clenched teeth, his speech stilted and tight with anger. A glance from, what seemed to be his first mate, spelled out caution. They were reasonable people; he would be able to negotiate. In fact, they reminded him a little of he a Spock.

 

“Thank you,” Jim said. Solemnly, “and I must apologize Captain…”

 

“Smith.” The man supplied tersely, glaring quite effectively.

 

“Captain Smith, I apologize for waylaying you like this and for any trouble or delay we might cause as a result of our actions. One of my crew is deathly ill and we are in desperate need of a doctor.” Jim said, “You see why we would do everything possible to prevent his death.”

 

Captain Smith still looked as if he wanted to knock heads together, but his first mate seemed only cautiously intrigued. Jim knew very well that pirates weren’t very well known for their loyalty, nor their trustworthiness. Jim also knew that his crew was the exception and he was damn proud of that fact—plus it made them ten times as efficient.

 

“Be that as it may we still don’t have any medical aid to give you.” Captain Smith replied practically bristling at him.

 

Jim nods, “Let’s be perfectly honest. You don’t trust us and you won’t no matter what I say, but the truth is we’re really only looking for a doctor. Hopefully no one will get hurt and by that,” Jim explained quickly, raising placating hands, “I simply mean that we will defend ourselves. Having said that and knowing that you still don’t trust us I can’t believe that you would simply hand over a medic if you do have one. Furthermore, as a Navy man it is your duty to harass and beleaguer enemies as much as possible without unreasonably endangering your men and I believe you are an honorable man.”

 

The Captain said, “Yes.”

 

Jim nodded, at least they were agreed, “Taking into account the situation, I’m going to have to ask you to call all crewmembers and passengers to the deck. My crew will confirm that everyone is topside. If you don’t have a doctor we’ll absolutely leave you behind peacefully, no hard feelings. If you do have a doctor…well we’ll go from there, fair enough?”

 

“Do we have a choice?” the Captain growled.

 

Jim shrugged, “You could resist, but it would only cause destruction. Is it so bad for a man to ask for help? To save a life?”

 

The Captain’s hard expression did not waver, but after a moment he nodded.

 

His second in command issued orders rapid-fire, sensible and calm. He seemed confident of an advantageous outcome. The Captain continued to stare at him. He took two steps forward and said to Jim, his eyes sharp, “I’ve heard some interesting stories about the Captain of a ship called Enterprise.”

 

“Oh?” Jim said, playing innocent, “ Well I always enjoy hearing the gossip.”

 

“Captain Smith hummed, “Some say you’re the very devil, worse than any pirate alive. And others say that you’re as gentle-mannered as a noble.”

 

“Is that what they say?” replied Jim, eyes wide and guileless.

 

“I would be very interested,” Smith continued, “to learn which tale is closer to the truth.”

 

Jim smiled, “A man is different things to different people.”

 

Smith gave a terse nod and a tight almost-smile before retreating to converse with his first mate.

 

As passengers were brought up wearing intense and varied expressions Jim dropped his smile.

 

They had so little hope.

 

McCoy had spent the last 2 hours in his bunk appreciating all of life’s little ironies as well as the fact that he was apparently going to be killed by pirates. It wasn’t exactly what his had planned for his new life, especially taking the death part into consideration but he hadn’t really had a plan, so he couldn’t really complain too much.

 

However, despite the whole pirate attack thing the sailors who cam down to explain the situation, which McCoy had already known, seemed tense but calm. In fact the atmosphere on the deck seemed fairly relaxed, considering the circumstances.

 

It was a little incongruous to see the ships crew lined up as if for inspection while the passengers were awkwardly clumping around the bulkhead. Somehow it reminded McCoy of an execution.

 

It was also mildly shocking to find a very large ship towering over them when only hours before there had been nothing but them and an empty horizon. It was disconcerting to think oneself alone on the big wide ocean only to suddenly find oneself set upon by pirates. McCoy had been under impression that it was peaceful out here.

 

The pirates were actually somewhat impressive, seeming organized and well disciplined, every bit as professional as the Navy crew. McCoy could tell from a glance that there healthy and, most surprisingly, clean. They were a little ragged around the edges, surely, but not disreputable.

 

The Captain, though, was the most impressive. He wore a white shirt with its sleeves rolled partially up underneath a corded vest of a burnished yellow color somewhat reminiscent of gold, the collar accenting his strong jaw. His breeches were a light tan color, how boots were a polished black rising to just below the knee. He wore a blue scarf around his neck, which was the same color as his eyes.

 

McCoy snorted—a vain pirate captain. But now that he looked, as pirates were directed past cringing passengers, probably to plunder and steal and generally wreak havoc, he noticed a certain color code among them, namely that most of them wore some variation of red, but in addition, several personal and-most surprisingly, tasteful additions.

 

The African woman, who he was determined not to underestimate, wore beautiful carved wooden jewelry close to her dark skin to, he presumed, avoid getting caught on things. The Asian man, who looked almost seasick, which seemed odd for a pirate, whose color was a muddy yellow-orange, wore a flowing silk scarf as a belt as well as a smaller one tied around his bicep. McCoy scanned the crew. Well, whatever else they had, they weren’t short on style.

 

The rest of the crew emerged and one of the men said to the Captain, “It’s all clear down there, Captain. This is everyone, sir.”

 

There was a brief exchange between the two captains, which somehow reminded McCoy of his interactions with his now ex-in-laws, before the pirate captain approached the group of terrified civilians.

 

“Good morning,” he said, projecting his voice effectively without yelling, “I apologize for the inconvenience, but our need is urgent. One of my crew is very ill and we don’t have a ship’s surgeon.”

 

No, McCoy thought, surgeons aren’t generally considered to be in high demand from pirates.

 

“Our intention is only to save our crew mate.”

 

Wow, this guy was good. He almost sounded sincere even to McCoy. No one really believed him, but he sure knew how to work a crowd.

 

“This crew doesn’t have a surgeon I didn’t want to involve civilians but this ship is our last hope. My crewman won’t make it to even the nearest port, so I must ask you—if any of you knows anything of medicine, I beg you, step forward.”

 

There was a dull silence as the pirate captain gazed intently at the passengers, but McCoy wasn’t paying attention to him. He was too good an actor to gauge his genuine intentions. No, McCoy watched the boarding party to take his cues from. The Asian man looked, if possible, even more sick, his skin pale and, McCoy squinted, probably clammy. The African woman’s face gave away nothing but the way she stood beside the Asian man, protective and supportive, spoke of an underlying concern and compassion.

 

Most importantly they didn’t appear to be preparing to slaughter everyone so he was pretty much content for now. McCoy returned his attention to the captain who was now just about at “I know we come across as bloodthirsty pirates, but we’re really just misunderstood; in our natural state we’re warm and fuzzy.” Total bullshit as far as McCoy was concerned. He cocked his head and glanced at the sky. Damn the pirates anyway for attacking on such a nice day.

 

Then, inexplicably, the pirate’s tactic changed. His attitude went from commanding officer to casual acquaintance in seconds. Damn. He knew the kid was a pro, but that was impressive. Christ! The manipulative bloodthirsty pirate captain, McCoy reminded himself harshly, even had McCoy calling him kid. If that wasn’t genius, then he didn’t know what was.

 

“Let me ask you this, then.” The pirate said, totally informal and familiar, hopping up to sit on a barrel, “Why is it so hard to believe that all I want is a doctor to save the life of a friend and comrade? No one’s harmed you or even threatened you. We’re not mindless killers. We have reasons, goals we strive towards, sometimes somewhat contrary to the law, but right now all we want is a doctor. That’s it.”

 

“Let me ask _you_ this.” McCoy called out, the other passengers moved to create a clear path shying away from possible conflict, McCoy’s eyes met the captain’s, “What makes you so damn sure there even is a doctor on board. You said yourself, a crew this size wouldn’t have one. What are the odds that there just happens to be a doctor among the passengers?”

 

McCoy held his breath waiting for a response—the captain’s blue eyes taking him in studying him. He hoped he wasn’t about to be made an example of. Seconds distended and his palms began to sweat, but he held his ground.

 

The captain nodded, “The odds are fairly phenomenal but,” the captain shrugged, “hope and steep odds are all I have keeping my navigator alive.” The man smirked, “But pirates are known to be desperate men.”

 

McCoy gave a nod-shrug of general agreement and attempted to appear unconcerned; inwardly he frowned. Even with all he knew of pirates and this man’s skill at manipulation he still found himself pondering the very question their captain had put to them. What was it that made their tale so unbelievable? Certainly it wasn’t an implausible story. Sailors took ill and died for any number of reasons and many ships did not have doctors on board.

 

No, it was all the trouble they had gone to for just one man, their firm and determined and heartfelt efforts to save this man’s life. Many lawfully operating vessels wouldn’t go to such bother or might do so halfheartedly, but these pirates knew exactly what they wanted and they wanted to do good, pure good, and maybe _that_ was the crux of the conundrum.

 

No one wanted to believe that a ship full of criminals had more compassion, camaraderie, loyalty that your average law abiding citizen and looking at the boarding party the way they stood, moved, communicated with mere glances, McCoy could absolutely believe that these cutthroats were less a murderous rabble and more a band of brothers.

 

The Captain gazed at them all for a moment, having slipped off the barrel and now standing at attention he once more exuded an air of authority and control, “If it were anyone else, maybe I would have given up by now, but our navigator,” those blue eyes swept over the group like a chill, “is only seventeen.”

 

Seventeen. Seventeen— hardly even old enough to be considered a man. Surely a life so young was worth saving. So many years ahead of him but this boy was dying before life even really began in the dank musty bowels of a pirate ship. The boy was probably an orphan or a runaway who’d had no other way to survive. The world could be a cruel place, McCoy knew that as well as anyone and maybe while he was fixing him up he could…and there it was. McCoy’s mind had already made his decision and damn that bastard pirate captain for knowing exactly which buttons to push. Damn them all they could go…and all the anger ran out of him in a sigh during which he resigned himself to his fate.

 

Seventeen, after all, wasn’t so very much older than his young niece.

 

McCoy snapped out of his reverie in time to notice the two captains making a curt farewell and, not knowing the proper etiquette for such a situation, decided to take the most direct approach.

 

He strode over as the captain mounted the gangplank and loudly said, “You! Pirate captain.”

 

The man turned sharply and said, “Kirk.”

 

McCoy stopped at the gangplank and said, holding his hand out in a bold introduction, “Dr. Leonard H. McCoy at your service. Permission to come aboard, sir?”

 

For a moment there was total silence and surprise alone was written on the pirate captain’s face. Then his entire expression was transformed, those blue eyes sparkling with a fierce joy and his demeanor uplifted by relief and the widest damn grin McCoy had ever seen looking like it was going to tear his face in two and start dancing.

 

McCoy’s hand was grabbed, but instead of a simple handshake he suddenly found himself crushed in an awkward embrace with an obviously delusional pirate. He was too close, holding too tight, McCoy barely heard the breathless ‘thank god’s coming from who knew who. He wriggled and squirmed, supremely uncomfortable and thought he had succeeded in conveying his displeasure as the pirate backed off a little, however this seemed to be only an opportunity for the rest of the boarding party to harass him in a likewise fashion. The sickly Asian man clung to him and clutched at his hand, looking as if he were about to cry. The African woman thankfully settled for a substantially long pat on the back.

 

By this point McCoy, not a very tactile person as a rule, was about ready to jump overboard. He had been prepared for several different reactions; a piratical group hug had not been one of them. It was, incidentally, Captain Smith who saved his sanity.

 

“Dr.” and there was a decidedly disapproving emphasis on his title, “McCoy, you understand that as soon as I am able” and here he glared at Captain Kirk, “I am duty bound to be underway for the safety of my crew, the passengers and in order to organize a timely…counter measure.”

 

McCoy turned to the stone faced captain, he had guessed as much-it was really the only thing the man could do-although, somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if Captain Kirk would so easily surrender a passenger, “I understand, Captain Smith.” He said solemnly, “just don’t forget to mention me when they’re planning the…counter measures.”

 

“I’ll report you as kidnapped. Is there anyone specifically you would like me to contact?”

 

His answer curled in his gut sickening him, “No, thank you, Captain.”

 

The man nodded in response, a kind of hard pity in his eyes and McCoy once again found himself facing the furiously grinning pirates. Oddly enough, he had no idea how to act. It was a peculiar circumstance, really, offering himself up to be kidnapped. He wanted to remain on his guard, wanted to hate them, even, but they were so damned likeable, that it frustrated him somewhat.

 

In the face of this somewhat unsettling development, even without trying the blackguards were so charming, charismatic. McCoy suddenly foresaw this being a Very Bad Idea, but hell, it was too late now.

 

He managed, in the face of those enthusiastically welcoming smiles and the captain’s blue, blue eyes, to cautiously stutter out, “I’ll need some of my things from downstairs.” Which wasn’t the correct terminology at all, and fled down to below deck.

 

Leonard McCoy had never liked ships nor did he have any particular affection for large bodies of water. They were troublesome and dangerous simply as they were, but it was pure madness to travel across them in intricate and flimsy contraptions of wood and cloth. There were so many opportunities for some component to malfunction and god knew even when everything was in perfect working order ships still went down.

 

He also happened to be of the opinion that drowning would be a particularly nasty way to go.

 

James T. Kirk was rather pleased with himself. He was in absolute raptures over everything else. Of course Chekov wasn’t out of the woods yet, but at least now they could give him a fighting chance.

 

Jim had been so struck with joy at the presence of a doctor that he had pulled him into a hearty and unrestrained embrace, which had encouraged everyone else to do similarly as well. Jim chuckled at the awkwardness of the doctor who was clearly uncomfortable. It was a little comical, his sudden bashfulness, but that was what really had Jim intrigued.

 

The doctor had seemed quite certain of himself when he had spoken out before and when he had identified himself as a doctor, but afterwards all that strength and self-assurance had suddenly bled out of him and he had practically run below to collect him things. Perhaps the man was merely nervous now that he had put all his cards on the table, but no, he was intelligent enough to realize that he had not yet lost his usefulness and therefore was still highly valued by their crew.

 

No, it had been the physical contact that had put him so out of sorts. In fact every response they had gotten from him had been when they had behaved in a way contrary to that of the stereotypical pirate. So the doctor liked to understand situations, didn’t like the unexpected in volatile situations. Jim grinned to himself as he leaned against the gangplank; Spock would like this one.

 

Jim hopped off his perch and approached Captain Smith with a grin that he hoped was open and not cocky, apparently that was how people often interpreted his expression.

 

“So,” he said as he reached Captain Smith, “Just out of curiosity, did you know that you had a doctor on board.”

 

The captain gave him a glance that said ‘what kind of moron would answer yes even if it were true’ no doubt believing that a pirate would make an example of him if he had been uncooperative. He eventually said. “No, I was unaware. McCoy doesn’t really seem the type if you know what I mean. He’s good conversation- speaks plainly, but he’s tight lipped about himself.” The captain shrugged, “I don’t pry as a rule.”

 

\---

 

All told, McCoy really couldn’t understand how, taking all of this into consideration, he had ended up in this peculiar situation. It obviously involved copious amounts of bad luck combined with tragedy and misfortune. Someone or something had it out for him. Funny thing- he didn’t remember breaking any mirrors or walking under any ladders or crossing the paths of any cats, black or otherwise. He had apparently been randomly selected as the universe’s whipping boy. He was not enjoying this unexpected change of career.

 

Although, truthfully, some of it was his fault. He had admitted to being a doctor. He had spoken up to the pirate Captain. He had decided to sail to America. Now all he had to do was collect his property and he could go merrily along with the floating death trap full of cutthroat pirates. What had he been thinking? He walked down the rest of the hall in a numb haze. How exactly did you react to being kidnapped by pirates? He paused outside the door, waiting for the answers to appear in the gnarled whorls of the grains of wood in the door, or for divine intervention, he wasn’t sure which. It didn’t really matter much, though, as neither was forthcoming.

 

He sighed and heaved open the door, accepting the futility of his musings. The room contained all of his luggage, since he hadn’t trusted his medical supplies in steerage and he hadn’t packed much in the way of cloths, so he had managed to fit everything into two reasonably sized trunks and one medical bag that slung over the shoulder.

 

It would be a bit of a struggle to carry and he almost wished he had asked for help, but he would manage, he thought as he stuffed a few things back into their places.

 

Everything was finally packed up tight and strapped in and McCoy turned around to exit the room when he jumped in surprise at the presence of one of the navy sailors in the doorway. He nearly tripped over his trunks in shock.

 

“Dear God, man!” he exclaimed, “You frightened the wits out of me.” He said, his heart still pumping abnormally fast, “Can I help you?” he asked when the sailor, who wore a peculiarly conflicted expression somewhere between guilty, angry, and scared, did not immediately respond.

 

“You can’t go with them.” The young man said, voice tight and high with emotion, probably no older than the young pirate who so desperately needed a doctor.

 

McCoy chuckled nervously, a little touched by the concern, “Don’t worry about me, son. Besides they’re not giving me much of a choice.”

 

“You don’t understand.” The boy said, eyes a little too wide, jaw a little too tight as he raised a pistol to the level of McCoy’s naval, “I’m not giving you a choice.”


	3. Chapter 3

There was silence for a moment then a younger sailor with mouse brown hair, a thin face and sensitive eyes approached the first mate. There was a murmured exchange and the crewman headed off below deck following McCoy’s route.

 

Jim gave the first mate a questioning look. The man smiled, “He’s going to help the doctor with luggage.”

 

Jim cocked his head and nodded after the young man now disappearing down the hatch, “He and McCoy are friendly, then.” he casually surmised but the statement had an open ended feel.

 

The first mate and Captain exchanged a look, “No, not that I’ve noticed.” the captain said.

 

“Robert’s a good boy, but he’s had it rough; orphaned at ten, you know and life at sea isn’t easy.”

 

Jim’s gaze flicked to Sulu who had been watching the exchanged intently. Jim thrust his chin towards the path McCoy and the young crewman had shared. The man immediately extricated himself from his place among the other pirates and silently retraced the well-used path to below deck.

 

Captain Smith opened his mouth looking a little more angry than concerned, but Jim cut him off eyes staring hard and unflinchingly at the man.

 

“Your boy- how did his parents die?”

 

Smith was frozen for a moment; mouth slack in surprise and realization dawned on his face. “They were killed by pirates.”

 

Jim’s gaze turned towards the sea, a mystery, the tenuous line between life and death, a veneer, the sparkling subject of artists and poets and songwriters and visionaries-but mostly, just death.

 

\---

 

“You don’t want to do this, son.” McCoy said, raising his arms slowly in the universal gesture of surrender. “No one has to get hurt here.”

 

“You’re right.” The young man said, the gun wavering in his grip; he was experienced, but nervous or, rather, emotional, “No one has to get hurt here. If you go with them they’ll hurt you.”

 

“If I don’t go with them they’ll hurt me and probably a lot of others too. They’ll get me one way or another.” McCoy said.

 

“No! We can fight them!” Well, the kid had spirit, McCoy thought as the gun traveled through the air, maybe a little too much.

 

“Listen, kid, if they’re going to get me anyway, why not save all the lives that would be wasted resisting.” He reasoned.

 

“They’re not going to get you.” The boy said.

 

“I think they are.” He replied cautiously.

 

“I would kill you,” the boy said, the gun suddenly settling and leveling out, “before I let them get what they want.” McCoy stood for a moment unsure of the right thing to say.

 

“Why?” he finally asked.

 

“They’re pirates! They don’t deserve anyone’s help! They can all rot in hell!” the boy yelled, hopefully someone would hear him.

 

“So I have to die? Honestly, that doesn’t seem fair.” McCoy continued, trying to buy time. All of his belongings were already in his bags and there was nothing in the room he could use as a weapon. The kid might be young but he was still in the Navy and he had a gun. McCoy only had words and time.

 

And apparently time was on his side this time. The Asian pirate silently emerged into view behind the young crewman in the doorway. He didn’t look ill any more, apart from the blood shot eyes. His expression was murderous determination.

 

McCoy remained frozen but he said, “Don’t hurt him too badly.”

 

The Asian man gave no sign of having heard him but the kid practically exploded. His face twisted and turned red and he yelled, “Do you think I’m stupid enough to fall for that? You don’t care do you? You want to go with them! You’re just as bad as they are!”

 

Then he fell unconscious to the deck after having the gun snatched from his grasp and his head slammed into the door lintel.

 

McCoy immediately fell to his knees next to the boy checking his pulse and the dilation of his pupils. It seemed that the young man would be all right in the long run if he weren’t discharged for mutiny or something like that. Who even knew what Navy discipline was like? Satisfied that the boy would live to have a hell of a headache when he awoke, McCoy glanced up at his surprise savior.

 

The Asian man extended a hand to him where he knelt.

 

He took it and said, “I told you not to hurt him too badly.”

 

To his surprise the pirate grinned and said, “Could have been worse.” And he grabs the larger of McCoy’s bags and starts walking.

 

“We’re just going to leave him here?” McCoy yells after him, indignant.

 

The pirate turns and shrugs, “He’s not doing anything. Besides, we’re in a hurry.”

 

McCoy snorts and gathers the rest of his things quickly absolutely unwilling to admit to himself that he doesn’t want to be out of sight of the pirate after what’s just happened. He’s never been threatened before, well, not seriously and he finds himself…shaken, even more so that it would be a pirate who saved his life.

 

Things had once more degenerated into an atmosphere of hypertension, both parties concerned with the possibility of conflict. Jim was most worried about the doctor, not necessarily his physical well being, Sulu would be perfectly able to guarantee that, but his mental state. If the doctor got spooked and they were forced to take him against his will, well firstly a kidnapping would probably incite an attack from the Navy where a volunteer victim wouldn’t and secondly they might lose the doctor’s good will.

 

However as Sulu and the doctor emerged from below neither looked the worse for wear. Captain Smith did not seem to share Jim’s relief.

 

“And my man? What about him?” the man demanded.

 

Sulu opened his mouth to reply and Jim prepared to diffuse a possible situation, but the doctor beat them both.

 

“He’s fine, Captain. Boy was just a little overzealous. He’s unconscious but I checked him over and he’ll be perfectly all right.”

 

Smith nodded stiffly and turned to Kirk, “If you’ve concluded your business I would thank you to kindly get off my ship now.”

 

Sulu had already led the doctor to his side so in response Kirk began to back towards the Enterprise, his crew catching the hint and preceding him across the gangplank, escorting the doctor across first.

 

Kirk gave the Captain a snappy salute as he had been taught and said, “You are kindly welcome.” And he climbed up to the gangplank and stood for a moment before crossing, “May your sails be filled with fair winds and may your ship carry you safely home. Farewell.” And he gave a half bow and departed.

 

When he reached the Enterprise he leapt nimbly off the gangplank. The crew was already in an uproar at the appearance of the doctor who seemed to be quite overwhelmed.

 

“Spock, let’s break off from the Farragut and start making way.”

 

Spock, who had been involved in a rather intense staring contest with the doctor turned and nodded sharply as Sulu went to take the helm, slapping the doctor’s shoulder as he went.

 

Meanwhile Kirk approached the doctor with an open smile and non-threatening body language, treating him as a frightened animal. The doctor paid him no particular attention, merely watching as preparations to sail were made. Jim got the feeling that the good doctor was analyzing and processing everything he saw, looking for weaknesses he could exploit. McCoy, it seemed, was a wolf in sheep’s clothing and would be better approached as a predator than as prey.

 

“So, what happened down there?” Jim asked, nodding his head to the Farragut just as they began to break away.

 

“Kid wanted to save me from you and keep me from helping you at the same time. Turns out he was willing to kill me to do it.” McCoy explained.

 

“That…” Jim started, “doesn’t really make any sense.”

 

“Does if you think all pirates are scum and anyone who helps them is going to hell. Suppose he thought me a bit of a traitor for volunteering.” The doctor said with a shrug as Spock approached.

 

“Oh, Spock,” Jim said, putting a guiding hand on McCoy’s arm and pushing him to face the slender man. The doctor clearly flinched although, whether that was because of him or Spock, who seemed to unnerve the doctor, he wasn’t sure, “This is Doctor Leonard McCoy.”

 

Spock gave a slow nod.

 

“Spock is my first mate.”

 

McCoy also nodded, taking in every facet of Spock’s appearance and expression. Well Dr. McCoy was sharp, if nothing else.

 

McCoy, once satisfied with his observations, turned to Jim and said, “I believe I have a patient to see, Captain.”

 

Spock’s eyebrow rose, “Your enthusiasm is comforting.”

 

McCoy fixed him with a glare that would melt rocks. Jim was just enjoying the show. Not many people stood up to Spock.

 

“Right well I don’t know what you’d do to me if he died.” McCoy growled.

 

Spock gave Jim a heavy glance Jim nodded and once again took the doctor’s arm , leading him towards the bulkhead.

 

“Dr. McCoy,” he said keeping his grip light, “I want you to try to understand. You are our guest. No one is going to hurt or harass you or they will answer to me and I employ swift justice. On this ship you are safe.”

 

McCoy glanced at Spock, then back at Jim with an expression that said, “I’ll believe it when I see it” and preceded them both into the depths of the Enterprise.

 

Spock and he exchanged a surprised look. Jim grinned. This doctor was beginning to grow on him and they did need a doctor full time. Spock gave him a questioning look but they were both startled when McCoy yelled, “Are you coming? I can’t just sniff out a sick person you know.”

 

Jim’s grin widened, “I like him.” He said to Spock before sliding down the ladder to the decks below.

 

When McCoy got to the sick room he was a little surprised by how well stocked the room was. It had clearly been converted to infirmary full time.

 

“What’s his name?” he asked as he approached the young man who lay delirious on a low cot his head covered in orange curls and another shorter man with dark hair sitting in a chair at his bedside. The man immediately stood.

 

“You’ve found a doctor! Thank God! I knew you would, sir.” He said with a clear brogue. McCoy, after a brief flash of surprise at the man’s heritage (he was a long way away from Scotland) he just waited for the answer to his question.

 

“Ah, sorry, doctor. The lad is Chekov, Pavel Andreiovich and I’m Montgomery Scotty, but everyone calls me Scotty. It’s verra good to meet you, doctor.” The man said gripping his hand in an enthusiastic handshake.

 

“Leonard McCoy” he replied using the handshake as leverage to switch places with the Scotsman in order to get to his patient.

 

“Now, what can you tell me about Mr. Chekov?” he asked.

 

“Well it started out as what you might call a general cold. We weren’na too worried but eventually it got worse. He was exhausted all the time, faint too.”

 

McCoy was already busy taking the boy’s pulse and his temperature, but he was clearly listening intently Jim was pleased to see.

 

“He’s had chills suddenly and then he’s so fevered he’s shakin’.”

 

McCoy checked the boy’s eyes and listened to his breathing, “Has he convulsed at all?”

 

“Convulsed, sir?” the man repeated.

 

“Like a seizure, all tensed up and twitching.” McCoy explained. The man went very quiet and McCoy had his answer, although Kirk spoke up from the shadows to confirm, “Yes, he’s had two seizures, minor ones.”

 

McCoy nodded with a suspicious glance, probably at the fact that Kirk had specified minor, but he was already shifting blankets and lifting up the boy’s shirt. He felt around the left side of his chest, just under the pectorals, probing gently.

 

He sat back, apparently satisfied and began rummaging through his bag, laying a few things on a nearby table. Jim coughed and McCoy glanced up and replied as he went back to rummaging.

 

“That’s all I need from you for now, so get out of my infirmary and let me work.”

 

“Your…” Kirk spluttered in indignant shock as Scotty tugged him out of the room.

 

“Did you hear what…his infirmary!” Kirk continued as they exited.

 

McCoy shook his head and smiled grimly as he set to work. First thing: reduce the fever and ply with liquids.

 

Sulu was the first to notice the doctor’s presence on deck. Jim could see his knuckles going white on the polished wood of the helm. Jim slipped up next to him and gently took over. Sulu gave a look of profound gratitude before striding towards the doctor. It was a wordless exchange that spoke to just how well the crew knew each other.

 

The doctor merely nodded at Sulu and his headlong approach and remained on course towards Jim.

 

Jim caught the last of the conversation, as they grew nearer.

 

“You been anywhere warmer than you usually are, recently? Someplace with a lot of bugs?” the doctor was asking.

 

“Yes. We were thrown off course and ended up in Northern Africa.” Sulu replied, still obviously on tenterhooks when they reached Kirk. The doctor obviously couldn’t take the hint that Sulu was worried about his friend.

 

“Captain Kirk.” The doctor acknowledged.

 

“Dr. McCoy.” He replied.

 

“Your man has malaria.” There was silence as they processed that news. Malaria was curable, but it could also easily be deadly, “I don’t know yet if he’ll live,” and Kirk could feel the whole crew listening and being crushed in one instance, “but he has a chance.” The doctor continued. “I want you to understand that even if we do everything possible, at this point anything we do may still be too late, but I’m sure as hell not letting go without a fight. He’ll need constant care and I’ll need help. That means at all times, one of your men whose duty is solely to aid me, fair?”

 

“Of course, Dr. McCoy. You’ll have everything you require.” Jim replied hollowly as McCoy spun to return to his patient. He turned back, however, at Jim’s tone.

 

“There is hope, you know. Boy’s young and strong. Chances are he’ll pull through.” He offered.

 

“Thank you, doctor.” Jim replied.

 

The boy was in bad shape that was for damn sure, but he was a fighter and he wasn’t giving up. The days went by in blurs for McCoy. Some of the crew brought food to him. Different men were his nurses on different days. When he could afford to, which wasn’t often, he slept on an adjacent cot in the infirmary. He gave the kid quinine at regular intervals and the rest of the time he was occupied with the fever, keeping it down, keeping him warm and under blankets, then bringing the fever down again. Keeping up his fluids was a constant challenge. It was hot, hard work involving mostly constant attention and punctuated with short bursts of panicked action. God knew this pirate was his only guarantee of safety.

 

It was five days after he arrived on the Enterprise that the boy first opened his eyes. He was completely out of his skull delirious, but he was awake. He mumbled sometimes, but it was mostly in Russian. It was three days after that that he finally became lucid, which was a week after he had arrived. It was a week and five days that McCoy finally declared the boy fit enough to return to his own bunk for rest. It was on that day that McCoy finally emerged from the infirmary for nearly the first time for the same interval.

 

He escorted the young pirate who was thanking him for all his work to his bunk. He wasn’t really listening-it took some concentration to hear through the accent. Once he had the kid deposited in his own bunk he wandered though the deck to the infirmary but when he got there he just couldn’t bring himself to cross the threshold. He held onto the door lintel and swayed a little. The days had gone by in such a blur- the ship was such a blurry place in general. He could hardly remember who the Captain was Kurd? Kirby? There was the Scottyish one named Scotty and the Asian one who hung around even when he wasn’t helping out and the ship! What was the ship called?

 

He leaned his head against the side of the door. It seemed rude not to know the name of the ship that was keeping you from drowning or being cast adrift. Very rude. Where were his manners?

 

“Dr. McCoy.” A deadpan voice called from down the hall. He looked up slowly. Not the Captain. He’d met this one though. Not one of his “nurses” either. He was pale, tall, slender, dark eyes, older than the kid, younger than McCoy.

 

“You…?” he started. The man frowned, although McCoy wasn’t even sure how he had distinguished the frown from his previous neutral expression.

 

“Doctor, you are exhausted.” The man said. McCoy stared a staggered forward to poke the man’s chest, right dead in the center. He missed but managed to catch the shoulder.

 

“You have a very…acute sensitivity…for the obvious.” He said. Huh, that sounded a lot less biting than his usual sarcasm.

 

The man’s frown deepened, “Doctor, you have been neglecting yourself. I understand that we made clear to you the importance of young Mr. Chekov’s health, but…”

 

“Yes, you did. You made it quite clear to me…and don’t think I don’t know that I was only useful if he lived. If he died I know what you would’ve done!” McCoy staggered and the hallway seemed to twist. He was either sliding down the wall or the ceiling was going up. The man caught him before he hit the floor. Bastard. He would have happily passed out right then and there. What did the pirates care where he slept anyway?

 

“Come, doctor. I will bring you to the mess hall and then I will bring you to a room where you may sleep comfortably and undisturbed.” He said, the frown mostly apparent in his tone.

 

“What for?” the doctor slurred as his arm was slung over the man’s shoulder and he was half dragged down the hall, “You’re not cannibal pirates are you? Now, that would be just my luck.” He babbled on, “But that doesn’t make sense, cause then you wouldn’t need a doctor anyway. Unless you only eat outsiders and this is just a clever ruse.”

 

Then he was being gently lowered into a seat on a bench in front of a long table. He looked around and found himself in a rather large, open room, occupied only by tables and benches and a big looking man wielding a ladle in a somewhat threatening manner. No one else appeared to be in the room, except, of course, the man who had brought him here who approached the ladler. McCoy watched them speak rather absently. He couldn’t bring himself to show any interest and laid his head down upon the marvelous flat surface that had been so conveniently presented to him.


	4. Chapter 4

Out of the corner of his eye Jim saw a rather alarming sight. Was Spock carrying a body? The answer was yes, yes he was. Not only was he carrying another person, but the person he was carrying was the illustrious doctor that they were all so indebted to. Also, Jim had promised the doctor that he would be safe aboard this ship and he would defy anyone to make James T. Kirk a liar. He jogged over to Spock.

 

“Spock, what happened to him?” he asked, catching up.

 

“The good doctor has been neglecting himself. I found him outside the infirmary near collapse and brought him to the mess hall as he has also lost significant weight and planned to give him a bunk afterwards. The doctor had different plans.” He said, shifting the man in his arms, which drew Jim’s attention to the doctor. And damn if he didn’t wish he were the one with his hands on the man. The scruffy, unshaven, disreputable look really worked for him. The bags under his eyes only made him more endearing.

 

“I had thought,” Spock said slowly, noticing his preoccupation with examining the doctor, “to bring him to the officers’ quarters and give him my bunk.”

 

“Yours?” Jim said, surprised, then a sly smile grew on his face, “Why, Mr. Spock, are you blushing?”

 

He hadn’t been, but he was now. Jim held the door to their shared quarters as Spock bore the doctor inside to his bed. As the Captain and first mate they shared quarters that were well and beautifully furnished with bookshelves, paintings, a desk and actual beds. Everything was bolted down of course, but it was rather nice. Besides the beds they each had hammocks. Jim actually preferred the hammock. Spock didn’t seem to have a preference. There was a curtain between their two separate sections of the room, but it was seldom closed.

 

Spock carried McCoy to his bed and gently laid him down, removed his boots (of course Spock would never allow dirty boots in his bed Jim thought), then covered him with a sheet and a light blanket.

 

He walked to the curtain and said, “With your permission Captain.”

 

Jim who was trying his hardest not to smirk, nodded and Spock drew the heavy curtain across the room, closing off the area in which McCoy slept.

 

“So, Spock, what have you found out about our good doctor?” Jim asks, beckoning Spock over to the desk and the bolted down chairs.

 

“Very little, Jim. I have spoken hardly at all with him, although he seems to think that we may be cannibal pirates and seems very suspicious of us in general.” Spock replied.

 

“Yes, I noticed that too.” Jim smiled. But he wouldn’t be around forever. He was only there temporarily and had already served his purpose. He would be gone soon. Jim’s smile melted with that thought and Spock…he wasn’t one to give his heart freely. What with McCoy’s suspicion of them in general, it was unlikely that they would be able to convince him to join them as a permanent member of the crew.

 

“What do you think the odds are that we can convince him to join?” Jim asked Spock, knowing that he was probably already aware of the problems that his attraction presented.

 

“Slim to none, considering the regulations we are bound by.” was the reply. Jim nodded and watched Spock’s face carefully for a reaction. Spock so seldom showed preference for anyone openly. He was withdrawn and silent, not shy, really, only cold and indifferent, at least on the outside. He was not a man ruled by passions, but, Jim had a feeling that was only because nothing had yet roused his passions to an extent that would overpower the man’s control. Considering how strongly he had already reacted to the doctor Jim wasn’t sure what Spock would do. Spock just didn’t have any experience with the kind of overpowering emotions involved in passionate romantic flings. It would have been amusing to watch if there weren’t such a large chance of heart break in it for Spock.

 

“We’re heading to Port Volcano now, right? That should be a suitable place to drop him off.” Jim said, testing Spock’s reaction to the idea of separation.

 

“Yes. That should be an adequately sizeable place to leave him. He will be able to find passage to several different places.” Spock replied, absolutely emotionless. So, he wasn’t completely unaffected, but he wasn’t going to break down in tears. Jim was satisfied.

 

“Now, for ship’s business…” Jim said, rubbing his hands together in false anticipation.

 

“Yes, Captain. Mr. Chekov is resting in his bunk, but he has looked at the maps…”

 

McCoy woke up with something warm, furry and vibrating on his chest. He opened his eyes and thought that it was very fortunate that he wasn’t allergic to cats. A tortoiseshell cat was sitting on his chest as if it thought he were a throne. At first he intended to expel the cat from his personal space but a moment later he decided that the bed he was in was quite comfortable and he had absolutely no desire to move from it anyway. Plus he liked cats.

 

A short moment after that he remembered that, oh right, he’d been abducted by potentially cannibalistic (wait, where had that come from?) pirates and that, no, he did not remember falling asleep in bed. He could tell from the gentle rocking that he was still on a ship, but the décor of the room he was in was of a completely different caliber than anything piratical. There were deep red and black wall hangings and darkly stained cabinets filled with books and maps. The floor was covered by what looked like an incredibly soft rug, also red and there was a large curtain drawn at the far side of the room. The bed was as comfortable as any McCoy had ever been in before and the sheets were soft and smooth, above them was what looked like a handmade quilt. It didn’t match the rest of the room at all, but somehow, that made it all the more mysterious and meaningful.

 

Beyond the curtain McCoy heard voices murmuring softly. He nudged the cat off his chest gently and it gave way graciously and preceded him through the curtain. He stood and sank into the thick carpet with a grin of absolute hedonism. He took note of the position of his boots and padded over to the curtain. However before he opened it he heard a few words that made him pause.

 

“So we should hit the storm tomorrow at one hour after noon. We can tie everything down tomorrow morning, early and bring the sails down before midday meal.”

 

“It might be wise to review emergency procedure and lifeline knots and perhaps move some of the crates from the upper decks further down.”

 

“I’d rather move crates so that anything we can afford to dump overboard, if the time comes, is most easily accessible and things we can least afford to lose are the most secure.”

 

McCoy cleared his throat and scuffed the floor before opening the curtain and emerging to find Captain name-that-starts-with-a-K and Mr. I-don’t-let-people-pass-out-on-the-floor. They both immediately stood, which seemed a little strange.

 

“Doctor, how are you feeling?” the Captain said, smiling in a somewhat unsettling manner. The man was clearly conniving something or he there was some private joke.

 

“Better.” He answered truthfully, things were a lot less blurry, “Mostly hungry.” He admitted.

 

“Of course.” The Captain said, “Mr. Spock had been escorting you to the mess hall when you…fell asleep.”

 

What the hell kind of name was Spock?

 

“Ah ha.” He replied, unsure of what to respond. He vaguely remembered something about cannibals, but otherwise…and that couldn’t be a good sign either. “Well, I think I can walk without falling down now, so if you’ll just point me in the right direction I’ll grab something to eat.” He smiled weakly. Then he jumped as something brushed his leg. It was the cat. He crouched down and scratched its head.

 

“You little rascal.” He said softly to it.

 

“Tribble seems to like you. He does not often take to strangers.” The man named Spock said. He had a pleasing voice, smooth and he was watching McCoy intently. That was somewhat unsettling.

 

“You certainly have some odd names here.” McCoy said, standing once again and ignoring an indignant meow.

 

“Well would you prefer One Handed Joe or Peg Leg Larry.” The Captain joked. McCoy thought he had a point and shrugged his agreement. “In any case” the captain continued, “Mr. Spock and I were just about finished here. Why don’t you escort Doctor McCoy to the mess hall once again and see if it doesn’t go better this time?” he said with a mischievous smile, addressing Spock, who looked rather peevish at the thought.

 

“Yes, sir.” He replied and swept one hand out to silently invite McCoy to walk before him out the door. This, combined with the standing ovation at his presence, did not comfort McCoy. In fact it rather annoyed him. He wasn’t a woman and he wasn’t a guest. He was a prisoner! The least they could do was act like it. He had never been one for beating around the bush.

 

Spock could not understand it- this intensely powerful attraction to the doctor. It was problematic to say the least.

 

Spock had known from a young age that he was not interested in women, regardless he had found himself fancying very few men anyway and never as strongly as this. There was, firstly, very little chance that the doctor shared his proclivities. Second, the man would be leaving as soon as the next made port. Fostering a relationship, especially a romantic one at this time would be both ill-advised and illogical. That fact however did not stop him from wanting too.

 

He was well aware that Jim had purposefully arranged things so that he and the doctor would have a few moments alone on the way to the mess hall, but he simply could not think of anything to say. He was also rather displeased with Jim.

 

As they neared the dining hall and Spock’s window of opportunity began to close he finally could not withstand the silence anymore and said, to his great regret, “Doctor, I wish to assure before we proceed to the mess hall that none of the crew have ever shown the slightest interest in the consumption of fellow humans.”

 

It was simply a statement of fact. They stood for a moment in an awkward limbo before the doctor coughed and responded with, “That’s comforting to know. Thank you.”

 

“It was my pleasure, doctor.” Spock said sincerely before turning and walking quickly away- a strategic retreat. He was obviously not prepared to deal with this situation with a clear head. He would go meditate and regroup.

 

McCoy stood awkwardly in the doorway of the mess hall for a few moments after watching Spock’s march down the hall. With posture like that the man’s spine must have lost its capacity to bend. He was certainly an odd one- one moment silent, brooding and restive, the next shy and awkward. It didn’t really make sense. Well they were pirates, a law unto themselves, they didn’t have to make sense.

 

The mess hall was set up typically with one man, presumably the book serving people’s trays and there were tables at which eat.

 

He recognized the man serving as the man who had previously been waving the ladle around. At least that explained the ladle. Now he had a wooden spoon, which, as it turned out, was no less threatening than a ladle.

 

He approached with trepidation, and cautiously picked up a tray. Conversation had ground to a near halt- McCoy gritted hi teeth and moved down the line. For a brief moment he simply stood eye to eye with the large cook, murmurs fluttering across the tables then the cook clapped him on the shoulders and said, “You did good, doctor, you did good. Anything you want, you just ask.”

 

“Uh, thanks,” he replied, nearly buckling under the cook’s enthusiasm and smiling weakly, “I’ll just have whatever’s on hand.”

 

“Right then stew and bread.” The cook said and ladled a bowlful that was in severe danger of overflowing and laying next to that what looked like an entire loaf of bread.

 

“Thanks.” McCoy said unwilling to argue with the man and maneuvering awkwardly to keep from spilling. He turned towards the tables to find his fully recovered waving him over to a half full table. There was no way he could refuse. He carefully made his way over and sat in the newly vacated corner seat that everyone had scooted over to free up. He nodded his thanks and gingerly sat down.

 

“Ah doctor,” his ex-patients, Chekov said, “I don’t know who you’ve met. This is Sulu, Uhura and Scotty.”

 

He nodded in acknowledgement. Sulu laughed at the sight of his overfull tray.

 

“Hungry, doctor?” he joked.

 

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, “but Mr. Chekov seems very well-loved.” Which wasn’t something he wanted to speculate on.

 

“Cupcake had a soft spot for strays.” Sulu replied with a grin and got an elbow in his gut for his trouble, “Plus he was pretty freaked out by the way you passed out in here.”

 

McCoy nearly choked in a bite of bread and he could feel himself blushing violently. To his eternal chagrin McCoy had always blushed easily and visibly. Chekov looked a little guilty. McCoy quickly changed the subject for both their sakes.

 

“So how did a bunch of well-spoken professionals end up as pirates? Were you kidnapped like me or did you just apprentice with the wrong guy?” he asked, gesturing broadly with his spoon.

 

“Oh, well, the Captain took me in from a Russian crew. They weren’t very nice, so Captain Kirk offers me a place on the Enterprise as navigator. Being only a cabin boy, I accepted.” Chekov piped up, being the only one without a full mouth at the time.

 

“You just went off with a bunch of strange pirates?” McCoy asked, incredulous.

 

“Well it didn’t seem like it could be worse than where I was. Plus, navigators don’t just grow on trees.” Was the reply, which seemed both reasonable and horrifying.

 

“I was a prisoner on a Navy ship. Kirk took me on as the helmsman.” was Sulu’s answer which also sounded as if there was more to that story than he was telling.

 

“What were you a prisoner for?” McCoy pushed.

 

“My parentage.”

 

Uhura answered next. “Kirk found me in the slave markets just as I had escaped. Instead of turning me in and collecting a reward be brought me to the Enterprise as quartermaster and translator.”

 

“Oh? Where were you educated?” McCoy asked, slightly curious.

 

“A school in my village, then in the colonist’s town. I learned a lot of different languages as a slave, travelling to different locations.” McCoy nodded, also noting the unexpanded upon horrible nature of that story.

 

“Well, in my case, doctor, I was drafted into the Royal Navy and that’s where I met the Captain and Spock. Eh, that was before we were pirates.” Responded Scotty matter-of-factly.

 

“Wait just a goddamn minute. They were Navy?”

 

“Oh, aye, Royal Academy.”

 

“Christ! No wonder…so they’re…who are they?” Anyone at the Royal Academy had high connections of some kind.

 

“Captain Kirk is the son of George Kirk the hero of the Battle of the Narada. Spock is the nephew of the Spanish Ambassador to England. It’s not something that the respectables wanted to broadcast, you ken?”

 

“Jesus. So you’re all just misunderstood victims of circumstance? Statistically that’s totally unreasonable. What about the cook? Someone has to…have a more piratical background.” McCoy said. This whole ship was a floating psychosis: everything was insane.

 

“Oh, Cupcake? He beat the Captain to a pulp in a bar fight over Uhura.”

 

McCoy floundered for a moment, spluttering out, “Wha..?”

 

“Well, the Cap’n was asking for it.” was their apparently absolutely reasonable answer.

 

McCoy shook his head. Nutters, all of them.

 

Uhura looked at him with an understanding but uncompromising gaze, “We’re not the horrible bloodthirsty cannibals you imagine us to be- the captain least of all. We simply enjoy an alternate lifestyle.”

 

“What about Spock? He seems the type.” McCoy said, reminded of the man all of a sudden.

 

“The type to be a cannibal?” Chekov asked.

 

McCoy shrugged, “Tall, dark, quiet, repressed- he just seems the type to have hidden, violent, bloodthirsty depths.”

 

“I guess he might seem that way to someone who didn’t know him, but he’s never done anything...extremely abnormal or unhealthy.” Uhura replied looking slightly befuddled.

 

“That’s exactly my point! Don’t you think someday he’ll just snap and go crazy?” He asked. That was exactly what McCoy envisioned happening. He could see it clearly in his mind. Plenty of men had gone insane due to the long isolations of the open seas.

 

They looked at him then at each other and shook their heads.

 

McCoy shrugged and ate his soup. The bread he gave out.


	5. Chapter 5

McCoy’s heart has been in his throat for at least two hours and every time the ship lurches in the wake of a huge wave his stomach threatens to join it.

 

He’d known that there was going to be a storm, intellectually, but the reality was harsh and he was just a breath away from breaking down into a blubbering mess.

 

For God’s sake there was water an inch deep running through the halls, he wasn’t even that good at swimming.

 

There was a loud crashing sound and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He felt so useless. He hated feeling useless. And it was cold And wet. And miserable. And they were all going to drown- damn pirates had to kidnap him and then get him killed.

 

The door to the cabin slammed open and crashed in to the wall revealing a breathless Scotty.

 

“Doctor! Yer needed on deck! Sulu got cracked on the head mighty hard. We dunna want to move him, just in case.”

 

McCoy was already up grabbing his bag. Well he had wanted something to do. They stumbled out into the dark halls. As thy traversed the flooded corridors Scotty prepared him.

 

“When we go up on deck we’re gonna tie a rope around yer waist and connect it to a line that runs around the whole deck. That way you won’t get knocked overboard. Now, knowing yer penchant for selflessness.” McCoy scoffed, “Well ye were willing to be kidnapped by pirates to save a boy ye didn’t know. Anyway, point is you don’t untie yourself from that line no matter what, understand?”

 

They were almost to the deck and it seemed almost darker out in the storm that in the halls.

 

“What if the ship’s on fire?” he replied not quite sure if he was joking or not, as he steeled himself to go up on deck, but Scotty stopped him with a hand on his arm.

 

“I need your word, doctor.” He said, squeezing McCoy’s arm and meeting his eyes. He didn’t let go.

 

“I promise I won’t untie any knots while on the deck.” And Scotty nodded and let go of his arm.

 

They ascended the stairs clinging to railings as they were tossed from side to side. It was mere seconds before McCoy was soaked through. The wind was fierce and drove the rain at them with little mercy. A peal of thunder rang out over the enormous crashing of the waves and the yells of the sailors. Scotty and McCoy made their way slowly holding to the sides and pulling themselves along against the wind and giving way to the sailors who were scurrying around and keeping them a float.

 

They reached Sulu near the port bow. He was unconscious and had a large bruise already on the left side of his forehead. It could have been worse, McCoy thought as he checked Sulu’s neck which felt perfectly normal, but he couldn’t do anything out here. He could hardly see what he was doing. There were two other sailors hovering over Sulu, neither were men McCoy had met, but he could see Chekov’s pale face peering over from near the bow with the same pinched worried expression the helmsman had himself worn when Chekov had been near death from the malaria.

 

“Get him below!” McCoy yelled to two sailors, “Carefully!” They nodded and began to gather up the man. McCoy followed but was delayed by the rushed path of a sailor who was actually making sure they didn’t capsize and all drown. McCoy was happy to give way.

 

A large wave took him by surprise the next moment and he was thrown against the outside rails. He clawed his way up to standing through the water heaving at his feet, trying to push them out from under him. Just next to the rail ran the main safety line which would have been more convenient to use to pull himself along, but he didn’t want to risk it. He was very much an advocate of this safety line system, but what was that? An inconsistency caught his eye. That line was highly frayed. In fact it was about ready to snap. McCoy staggered over towards it, following it with his eyes to try to warn whoever was in danger of falling overboard. The line led over to the opposite side of the ship and…was that Spock? It was and he was at least half the ship length away, his safety line close to taut.

 

“Spock!” he yelled across the ship. “Spock!” But there was no chance of him hearing over the waves, the other yells and crashing of the thunder.

 

Then, at the edge of his vision, McCoy became aware of a slowly increasing towering presence. The wave hung over him as tall as the lowermost sail. To McCoy on the side of the ship, directly under it, it seemed to go on forever. Behind the horror, fear, shock that nearly petrified him McCoy was aware that this wave, as it crashed over the ship would force every safety line to its limit and Spock’s would inevitably snap. This thought, this one spark of coherence in the pure terror McCoy was feeling shook him out of his petrified state and goaded him to act.

 

He lunged at Spock’s safety line, somehow aware of the wave’s state of motion as it reached its apex and began to descend upon them.

 

Several things happened very quickly. The waved made contact and McCoy was thrown towards the opposite side of the ship, his safety line snapping him to a harsh halt. Then the slack on Spock’s safety line was gone and the rope was slipping through his hands. He clenched his fists around the rope and yelled, words escaping him. He had the rope. It wasn’t getting away from him, dammit! He was lifted nearly off the deck by the force of Spock who was now suspended over the side of the ship above the waves. He was _heavy_.

 

There was a flurry of motion as others grabbed the line and still others helped Spock over the side of the ship. McCoy wasn’t about to stand back up from the place he had thrown himself to catch Spock’s line, but several pairs of hands caught him and hauled him to standing. There was no time for recognition or thanks but McCoy’s eyes met Spock’s for a moment and McCoy watched him take in the snapped safety line then glance back up to McCoy. The moment seemed to distend time as they stared, but eventually the other sailors blocked their view and by the time their lines of sight would have been clear again, they had both returned to their previous tasks.

 

By the time McCoy reached the infirmary he had collected at least seven more bruises being tossed around through the halls. He had practically broken his neck falling down stairs. When he arrived Sulu was on the raised cot and only on of the sailors remained. Good.

 

“Get him out of those clothes.” McCoy barked, rummaging around for a blanket or two. The man looked a little surprised to suddenly be taking orders from a captive, but he had no doubt heard of the nurse duty shifts that many of the pirates had needed to take in order to save Chekov. In short, he obeyed, and that was all McCoy needed.

 

He finally found blankets in the bottom of a drawer in one of the corner cabinets but when he turned around the pirate was standing motionless and Sulu still wore his undergarments.

 

“All of his clothes.” McCoy stated bluntly. The pirate looked a little disgruntled and hesitated a bit before gingerly peeling the wet cotton off of Sulu’s body.

 

Once that was out of the way McCoy shoved the blankets at the sailor, “Dry him off and wrap him in those.” The man visibly swallowed.

 

Once Sulu was settled McCoy pulled open his eyelids cautiously swinging one of the oil lamps over to shine in his eyes. His pupils were unevenly dilated. Damn. He had hoped it wouldn’t be a concussion, although the injury could have easily been much worse.

 

This was became evident when moments later Sulu stirred and began to open his eyes. McCoy was at his side in seconds.

 

“What’s your name?” he asked firmly.

 

Sulu looked confused for a moment but McCoy didn’t worry. They all looked confused at that question.

 

“Hikaru Sulu.”

 

“What ship are we on? Who’s the Captain?” McCoy pressed.

 

“We’re on the Enterprise under Captain Kirk.”

 

McCoy sighed, “Good. You’ve got a concussion but you should be just fine. You’re going to stay here and rest. You’ll have a bitch of a headache and you might be dizzy for a while so just sit tight. You can go ahead and sleep if you’re tired. I’ll wake you up every hour to make sure you’re doing alright. Got it?”

 

“Yes, sir.” Sulu said sounding a little frazzled. This was something of a joke among the pirates- calling McCoy sir. They were amused by his forceful manner, the way he always expected his orders to be followed.

 

 

The Enterprise lurched suddenly again throwing McCoy into a counter and almost knocking Sulu off of the medical table. They exchanged a look.

 

“Maybe you’d be better off in your own hammock?” He asked--those things were designed for sea travel, right?

 

“And you had best get back to that cabin. It’s pretty well protected from the storm.” McCoy nodded and stood to lend Sulu a steadying hand on his way back to his hammock. McCoy had had concussions himself; it was hard enough walking straight when you weren’t being pitched and tossed by a ship in a storm at sea, although the pitching a tossing seemed to be settling down. The storm had come up freakishly fast-maybe that was how it was going to end.

 

McCoy decided, when he made it back to the little cabin assigned to him for the storm without any major stumbling, that the storm was indeed dying down. Still, he felt immeasurably relieved when he entered the small, compact room and shut the door behind him, locking everything else out- his past life, the pirates, the storm, everything. His hands.

 

He sat for several minutes not looking at his hands. He didn’t want to know. He wanted to shut the door against this too. He could feel pain in them-bright lines of fire across his palms. He could feel the trembling-but everything felt so distant. He looked down.

 

Bright red- these weren’t his hands. These weren’t a doctor’s hands— not with the skin lifted off in an inch wide swathe across the palms. They were literally dripping blood. He felt so detached- and a little faint. How disgraceful- for a doctor to be so utterly repulsed by the sight of blood as to become completely useless. She had been right all along. She had always been right. He was no doctor. He wasn’t fit to…

 

The door to the cabin eased open and McCoy looked up, blankly, his hands hanging limp across his knees, ravaged rope-burned palms facing upward, at Spock.

 

“Doctor…” Spock began to say but was cut off by the broken man on the bunk.

 

“No. Not anymore. I can’t. Not like this.” The man babbled.

 

“Doctor.” Spock cut him off, “You are more than your hands and your hands will heal.”

 

The man ceased his broken hearted babbling but his eyes were still glassy and shocked. Spock walked over to him and gently touched his elbow, leading him to his feet.

 

“Come, doctor, we will go to the Infirmary and take care of you hands.” And he began to pull McCoy gently through the halls, which are still rocking, but are no longer violent. McCoy was quiet and docile, walking with his head bowed and his eyes unfocused. The silence and acceptance disturbed Spock more than anything else. McCoy had always seemed to have a manic energy about him, a focus. This listlessness was disturbing.

 

They travelled in silence and when they reached the infirmary Spock guided McCoy to sit upon the examination table. The man sat there, as he had before, simply staring at his bleeding hands with no expression in his eyes.

 

Spock gathered a soft cloth, a bowl of water, gauze and a roll of bandages and placed the next to the doctor on the table. He stood in front of McCoy and placed his hands on his shoulders.

 

“Dr. McCoy, what is the best thing to use to aid the healing of such wounds?” Spock asked.

 

McCoy blinked. Then he shrugged end mumbled, “Nothing really. It’s just got to heal itself…if it can.”

 

“Dr. McCoy, Haversham has a small gash in his leg not very deep, similar to your wounds. What would you prescribe?”

 

McCoy became animated for a moment. His head lifted, at least a little and he moved to get off of the table to retrieve his suggestion but Spock placed himself in front of the doctor, blocking his path, “I shall retrieve it. Simply describe its location to me, please.”

 

McCoy nodded after a moment and spoke, “It’s in the second drawer of the upper cabinet on the far wall-two from the left. Yes, that one.” He said as Spock moved to the cabinets and opened the drawer, revealing several rather large jars of a lightly green hue.

 

“That should do well.” McCoy said dejectedly and slumped back into his depression. Spock ignored this for now. The more important things were the doctor’s hands. He took one and gently began to wipe it clean of the salt water and whatever might have been on the rope. McCoy winced at nearly every motion, but Spock’s grip remained firm. It wasn’t the sort of task that would ordinarily have bothered him, but for some reason the minute flinches were disturbing to him. It wasn’t in his nature to be cruel, but he had never been squeamish of doing what had to be done.

 

The man watched him as he spread a thin layer of the green paste in the jar onto the gauze and wrapped it around his hand. Then he took the bandages and wrapped those more tightly around his hand, both over and under the thumb, securing it expertly in a knot over the top off his hand. McCoy watched him intently now, knowing that he had been tricked into the information about the green paste, knowing that Spock had taken advantage of his momentarily frazzled state of mind. He inspected the bandage on his left hand as Spock began work on the right.

 

“This is well done.” McCoy said, obviously expecting a reply. Spock considered ignoring the implicated reply but eventually decided to answer the unspoken question.

 

“I have had some training. I did most of the easy remedies and the bandaging until we could get to a port, but many diseases and wounds are beyond my area of expertise. I was only trained as a sort of field medic, but I was the best we had.”

 

The bandaging continued on in silence, but it was a more contemplative silence. McCoy was coming to terms with his injury and the fact that he would indeed heal eventually. Spock was simply glad that McCoy' dark mood had lifted somewhat. It was amazing what the effects of someone else's emotions can have on another person. Spock had never really experienced this phenomenon until then. It was a few more moments before Spock was finished and they sat awkwardly in the dim silence of the Infirmary before either could think of anything to say.

 

"Thank you." McCoy finally managed to get out. It was a quiet and unsure statement, almost hesitant of acceptance and this somewhat startled Spock.

 

"It is I who should be thanking you. If not for your actions I would be lost to the storm. You saved my life and have suffered for it. I am in your debt and this is the least I could do."

 

McCoy shrugged, "Anyone would have done it."

 

"Not anyone. You." Spock insisted, "And I would have you accept my gratitude."

 

Their eyes met and locked and an understanding of mutual sincerity was reached.

 

"You're welcome." McCoy said.

 

Spock nodded his acknowledgment, "And now doctor, if I may escort you to your place of habitation..." and he paused to let the doctor make his way off the examination table. McCoy hopped off, a little off balance and said, "No need. I've been sleeping in here."

 

"In the Infirmary?" Spock said. That was unexpected. There was a small cloth cot in the corner but it wasn't comfortable or even meant for long-term use.

 

"Yes. Well, there was that one night I was in the cabin on deck but..."

 

Spock snapped out of his musings, "Yes, of course. Come, Doctor, we can offer you better accommodations than this." and Spock opened the door and walked the doctor down the hall, past the stairs to the bulkhead and towards the bow of the ship. They reached the end of the hall and McCoy noticed a door that looked much newer than the wood of the other doors or the beams that formed the hull.

 

Spock opened the door to reveal a similarly fine room to the Captain and First Mate's quarter's. It contained a bed with plush blankets, wall hangings, shelving and a dresser with a mirror mounted above it. The only thing that made the Captain's quarter's more appealing was the touch of a living person.

 

McCoy was about ready to cry when he saw it. It looked so comforting, so much like home, safe, on dry land somewhere in the country. His hands throbbed and his shoulders dropped as he stepped over the threshold in wonder.

 

Spock stood at the door watching, "You are pleased?"

 

For a moment the doctor did not answer but simply stood in the middle of the room and looked around in a less ominous daze than he had been in before.

 

"Yes" he finally said, sounding emotional, "It's wonderful, but is this really alright? I mean shouldn't you check with the Captain?" he finished, seeming to be casting about for a reason that such a wonderful thing could not have happened on a pirate ship or to him. The man seemed determined not to let himself enjoy anything.

 

"It is within my power and no one uses this room. It is for guests and you are, after all, as guest." Spock replied, wondering idly if McCoy would be roused to anger at the word guest. He was sometimes a bit sensitive on the subject.

 

McCoy did frown but he seemed exhausted in some way. His arms hung awkwardly from his shoulders in a way that protected his hands and did not look particularly comfortable. His face was pinched, with pain, probably, and discomfort, but also, it seemed, fear and disappointment.

 

"Doctor." Spock began, unsure of whether he was over stepping the boundaries of pirate and forced guest, "You seem to be in a state of emotional turmoil. Perhaps I can be of assistance."

 

The man before him sighed and looked even more defeated than he had in the Infirmary.

 

"You already have helped, Mr. Spock. and I am grateful, but I'm a surgeon." He lifted his bandaged hands and presented them to Spock, "but with my hands like this, I'm nothing. I may never be able to perform surgery again. I would never put a patient at risk, or operate when I was at less than my best." The arms fell back to his sides, "I'm useless."

 

"Doctor. you are not useless. Your knowledge is far beyond any of ours in terms of medical science. Without your assistance Mr. Chekov would be dead now, as would I. Myself and the crew owe you a great deal Doctor McCoy."

 

The doctor did not seem convinced. Spock wondered what he could say to make the doctor believe that he was not useless, under any circumstances. Spock had seen other men lose parts of themselves that were essential to their careers- legs, an arm, fingers maybe. Some of them had carried on and found ways to fight through their disabilities. Others had been consumed by bitterness or depression. It was not a pretty way to go and Spock would be damned before he let a man who had saved his life, a man like Doctor McCoy, die that way. With this resolved in his mind Spock spoke again, his mind somewhat settled now that he had set himself a particular goal.

 

"Doctor, you may need assistance while your hands are healing. I offer myself as a pair of hands to temporarily replace the ones you have lost use of because of me. I am also sure that anyone on the crew would be equally willing to substitute themselves in order to make your life easier."

 

Surprisingly enough the doctor did not seemed pleased by the announcement.

 

"If you think I'm just going to sit here doing nothing all day because I can't use my hands as much as I could before you've got another thing coming. I won't be treated like some invalid and I won't be molly-coddled. I don't need any help from you or your damn crew of cutthroats." McCoy yelled at him.

 

They stood there for a moment, both somewhat confused as to how a shouting match had been initiated and both somewhat apologetic.

 

"Ah." Spock replied. "In that case I believe I will go check on the damages that may have occurred during the storm."

 

"That's a good idea." said McCoy. They stood for another moment waiting for some kind of closure, which never came, then Spock nodded and strode out the door and up the bulkhead stairs.

 

Spock stood for a while in the middle of the room before going over and gently shutting the door. He wandered around the small room for a bit, taking in his new environment before sitting on the bed and sighing. He stared at his hands. It wasn't really that bad. It was going to be an utter nuisance.


	6. Chapter 6

"Captain, I have seen fit to give the Guest room to Doctor McCoy." Spock said as he approached the Captain Kirk.

 

"Alright, Spock. That's fine. In fact, I'm not sure why we didn't do that in the first place. I always forget about that room. We never really get to use it, do we?" Kirk replied, a little startled at Spock's sudden statement. Spock wasn't generally the kind to stride up and demand attention.

 

"The doctor is a bit indisposed." Spock continued, sounding slightly guilty, which was even more surprising.

 

"Indisposed how?" Kirk asked, putting down the chart of inventory. They were short a good amount of supplies.

 

"His hands had a rather bad run in with a rope during the storm. My safety-line snapped and he grabbed onto it, saving my life. The palms of his hands have a nasty rope burn all the way across. He may have some trouble with everyday tasks that require more than average dexterity."

 

Spock paused, "He also seems to be very sensitive on the subject. He believes that without his hands he is useless as a surgeon. He does not seem to see his true worth."

 

Kirk smiled, "Maybe you just have better eye sight than he does."

 

"No." Spock said, missing Kirk' implication much to his amusement, "I believe it is simply a matter of perspective and being too close to a situation to accurately judge it." Spock looked at Kirk and straightened, "With your permission I will keep an eye on the doctor to make sure that he will not become despondent."

 

"Absolutely, Spock. I would be grateful if you did. It would be unfortunate if any harm befell him after what he's done for us. He's a good man, too. I'll spread the word to the crew about what happened and I'm sure they'll do what they can too." Kirk replied.

 

"Ah, about that..." Spock looked slightly uncomfortable, "Beyond his depression, he seems unwilling to admit to any sort of weakness. He became rather upset when I mentioned that I would be willing to lend him a hand if it became necessary."

 

"Ah," Kirk said, "He probably just doesn't want to come across as seeming weak on a ship full of evil, nasty pirates. I wouldn't either." Kirk shrugged, "We'll just have to be subtle about what we do to help him."

 

"Yes, sir." Spock replied, and that was the end of the discussion as far as Spock was concerned. He changed the subject. "What is the state of the Enterprise, Captain? She is intact?"

 

"Enterprise is fine, Spock. She took on a good amount of water, but the pumps are running and she'll be skimming the water just as she was before in no time. The problem is one of the store rooms was leaking a bit. We lost a lot of supplies overboard and combined with the damage from the leakage we're running pretty low. However, this affords a nice opportunity. We're only a few days travel from New Volcano. We can stock up. You can visit family and we can drop McCoy off. It's a good sized port town and we know he'll be safe there, even with his hands a bit damaged."

 

Spock had that look on his face that was somewhere between happiness and uncertainty. He always enjoyed trips to visit his family. They did love him, but they hadn't approved of the profession he had chosen, so there was always that little bit of tension. Not everyone understood his choice and that had made things harder for his family, which he regretted. But they did love him and visits were always nice.

 

"Yes, Captain, that seems like a very good idea considering the situation. We don't want to run into another situation like the one in Egypt."

 

Kirk shuddered, "No. No we don't."

 

"How far off course are we now, due to the storm?" Spock asked.

 

"A good few miles, but nothing too serious. It really was fortuitous of the wind. You should talk to Chekov. He'll give you the details and then you can make all the plans you want. I'll check back with you afterward and we can compare the distance with the inventory. I hope we don't have to ration anything." Kirk pouted.

 

"I'm sure no one would even notice. Cupcake is a very good cook." Spock said.

 

"Not if there isn't enough fresh water." Kirk said, showing his serious side, for once.

 

"Scotty has been able to make a distillery in the ship. I'm sure he will be able to provide us with water." Spock reassured him. It was clear that the Egypt incident was still bothering him. They had lost many good crewmen to slavers and exposure, including thirst, which as they had all witnessed, was not a very nice death.

 

"Kirk." Spock started, "We are not in any danger at present and the crew will be fine. They know the risks and we will easily be able to pull through."

 

Spock had never been very good at comforting, Kirk though idly. He wondered how it had gone with the doctor.

 

"I know. I just wish I had been better prepared. Maybe if I had known more about the situation I could have saved everyone." Kirk said, sitting in his chair and placing his head in his hands. He kneaded his forehead.

 

"You should go check with Chekov. He'll give you the calculations and then we can figure this out. That will help." Kirk said. Knowing, having proof in front of him that they would all be fine, that they wouldn't all starve to death and turn the Narada into a floating tomb would help. It would definitely help.

 

"I shall. Have no fear, Kirk. All will be well." And Spock walked softly out.

 

Kirk leaned back in his chair and chuckled. This was so unlike Spock. Usually he was the one basing everything on proven facts and statistics. This doctor must really be getting to him. That was intriguing. Perhaps Kirk would go pay him a visit. It wouldn't do after all to let the man simply sacrifice the use of his hands for the life of Robert's first mate without at least acknowledging that. And he might also make it clear that anyone found to be playing with Spock's heart would be viciously ejected from the realms of the living.

 

Kirk grinned- sometimes he enjoyed his job.

 

\---

 

It had been a long time since McCoy had time to simply take in his environment and enjoy it, beyond paying attention to where he was walking when he did house calls. With his hands out of commission he has very little to do which bothers him a lot. He's never been one to sit still when there's work to do and apparently on a ship there's always work to do. The ship never sleeps. It's odd in the way that this small vessel has become their entire world. McCoy has always had plenty of space to work in. He's lived in, if not the largest of cities, then at least sizable towns. He hasn't quite figured out if this bothers him. While his hands have been healing he's spent some time in the several places. He's spoken to the men on watch. He's watched Chekov and Sulu and Kirk chart maps and routes along the sea. They explained a little of it to him. He's been learning the names of the parts of the ship, the proper names and he can name several more constellations now. He's even helped out in the kitchens a little, although he's no kind of cook.

 

Spock has been following him, it seems. He's showed up at every different place McCoy has found to waste time without any real reason for being there. He always has a reason, but they're always very flimsy.

 

It is two days after the storm that McCoy' eye caught on the crow's nest. It started out as a beautiful day and McCoy walked out to the bow of the ship, skimming the horizon. Nothing but more water. That was alright he supposed. They were supposed to reach land pretty soon, depending on the winds. At least that was as much as he cared to understand.

 

He turned his back to the water and looked at the ship. She really was a magnificent vessel, pretty, even, when looked at in the right light. His eyes followed her curves to the main mast and lighted on the crow's nest and the man inside, being tossed about in the air like a tumbler at the circus. It looked precarious. It looked like a wonderful place to sit and think alone, to take in the sea and the sky and pretend that you were flying.

 

The rope ladder presented a problem, however, as long as his hands were still raw.

 

Spock had been the one changing the bandages and his hands really were healing quite well. So if he could just pad his hands enough, maybe he could get up there and just maybe he could convince the man on duty to take a break and leave him there alone. He wasn't very well going to share his solitude with anyone.

 

With this goal in mind he walked back to the bulkhead and down to the Infirmary to gather some spare gauze and bandages. The Infirmary hadn't taken any damage, so there were plenty of bandages for the very small number of injuries that the crew had managed to receive.

 

Little did the good doctor know that Spock had had his eye on him while he was on deck and had noticed his purposeful walk to below deck in contrast to his usual idle wandering. Spock followed the doctor and found him in the Infirmary cutting swathes of gauze and bandages and sighed.

 

"Doctor." Spock began. McCoy jumped in surprise. He hadn't heard anyone coming.

 

"Dammit, Mr. Spock. You nearly scared me to death."

 

Spock almost smirked and replied, "I hardly think you could be so easily killed."

 

McCoy pouted slightly, although he never would have admitted it, "I could have strangled myself with this gauze."

 

Spock quirked an eyebrow, but remained silent as he stepped forward to take the gauze and bandages from McCoy hands. McCoy resisted.

 

"Doctor, I have told you time and again that I do not mind reapplying your bandages as it would be a tremendously arduous task for you to perform without the full use of your appendages."

 

"Yes. You have and I have told you time and again that I accept your help grudgingly. This has nothing to do with reapplying bandages. I want to climb to the crows' nest and I thought it would be better to add extra padding before I go ahead and do that. You know, that's just my professional opinion, as a doctor and all."

 

Spock's frowned, "Doctor, it is much to dangerous for someone without fully functioning hands to climb up the mainmast on a rope ladder. If you fell it is unlikely you would survive. I cannot allow it."

 

McCoy drew himself up, "I don't recall asking you for permission, Mr. Spock." and he walked out of the Infirmary with the gauze and bandages. Spock followed.

 

"Dr. McCoy. You will not be climbing to the crow's nest."

 

"Why don't you stop me?" McCoy said flippantly as he continued, only to find himself suddenly pinned against the hull.

 

"I will if you do not desist in this ridiculous crusade." Spock said darkly.

 

McCoy' voice caught in his throat. He was too used to being free, to used to being in control. He wasn't free here. He was a captive of these pirates, no matter how polite they were or how many times they called him a guest.

 

"I thought I was your guest." McCoy tried to sneer, voice a little shaky.

 

"There are some places that even guests are not allowed, especially when it would endanger them. You would not have been allowed on deck in the storm had it not been vital to Sulu's life." Spock replied.

 

"So, your argument is simply that it would be dangerous for me to climb to the crow's nest?" McCoy said, in surprise and indignation.

 

"Yes." Spock said, "It is too dangerous to be allowed."

 

"For God's sake, man. It's my life. If I want to fall to my death on some fool idea involving climbing the mast of a pirate ship, what is it to you? You'd as soon cut my throat as look at me if I weren't worth more to you alive." McCoy said. This was ridiculous. These pirates were utterly suffocating him! And Spock was the worst of them all! What kind of pirates feed you well and give you the nicest spare bedroom and almost full run of the ship. None of this made any sense. He'd heard stories from people who's families or vessels had been attacked by pirates and they had been brutally murdered or violated or at least mutilated. These pirates were not following standard procedure and while McCoy was infinitely glad of this he really wished he had a better idea of what was going on. It was like playing a game of chess against someone who seemed as though they though they were playing checkers. In point of fact, it was incredibly frustrating.

 

Spock was shocked at the doctor's venomous words. He was obviously still afraid of them, although he was hiding it well. Perhaps it was just Spock that he was afraid of, but that didn't make sense. None of this made sense. They had been nothing but polite and gentle to the man. Perhaps they were a bit rough around the edges but they had by no means hurt him. They had not even really threatened him. Spock could not fathom these assumptions about any of the crew. He simply stood in shock for a moment before stepping aside and giving McCoy more room. Neither of them moved. Well, perhaps this was this only way to get through to the doctor. He was clearly not thinking rationally if he could speak so flippantly about falling to his death.

 

"Perhaps, doctor. So is it not in our interest to keep you alive? Also, the crow's nest is a functioning part of the ship. You would only be in the way. In point of fact, you are useless to us in the crow's nest." Spock replied, dead pan. He was angry. That was the only explanation. He was angry that McCoy would even think them capable of cold-blooded murder of an innocent man who had saved their lives.

 

"I...You...I can watch the sky just as well as anyone else." McCoy shouted and Spock saw the flaw in his argument. McCoy was now going to make the argument that he could be useful in the crow's nest as well. Probably more useful than in the Infirmary seeing as there was no one in need of his services.

 

"I believe I already answered this question. We do need you alive, as well. If you fell to your death you would be worse than useless. You would be a nuisance." Spock replied nastily.

 

"Isn't that what safety lines are for? Oh wait, those are actually just for show, aren't they?" McCoy said.

 

"I forbid you from climbing to the crow's nest. I have explained my reasons. If you disobey me you will be punished." Spock said, and walked away seething. First he has the audacity to consider all of them murders of the worst kind. Then he continually tries to put himself in danger without regard for his health. If he though that Spock were really capable of such brutalities as average pirates were was it really wise to get into a shouting match with him. The man had no self-preservation at all. It was frustrating in the extreme. Spock shook his head and marched to the map room where hopefully Chekov had been able to plot their course away from Volcano.

 

It was not an hour later that Spock went on deck to get some sun. It was a beautiful day and there was no pressing reason he shouldn't enjoy it a bit. The Captain was at the helm and Spock wandered over to him, not to speak. Simply to share the daylight and company. When he happened to glance at the crow's nest what he saw nearly threw him into an absolutely uncontrolled fury. Doctor McCoy was up in the crow's nest. Alone and with no apparent additional safety features than those given to completely able-bodied and experienced crew members. He was about to go climb the main mast and carry the doctor down himself when the Captain beckoned him over,

 

"Spock! Come over here. I have something to discuss with you.”

 

For a moment Spock was torn between saving the doctor from himself and obeying his Captain before he shook himself out of it and went over to the Captain. To even consider disobeying a direct order- he was going mad. That was the only possible answer. The doctor was driving him mad.

 

"Spock, I had a conversation with Doctor McCoy recently. He seemed to think you were being a little...hmm, what's the most delicate way I can put this... overbearing, perhaps. He petitioned me with his reasoning and I allowed him to go into the crow's nest. He's not going to get into any trouble up there. What could he possibly do?"

 

Spock opened his mouth to give a very strongly opinionated answer but was cut off, "I know. I know, but he's not going to fall and his hands are fine. We tried it before we let him get to the main mast, so don't worry. He'll be fine and that's the end of it, alright, Spock?"

 

Seeing no option but to back down, Spock allowed himself to give in and started to walk back to the rail.

 

"Oh, and one other thing Spock," The Captain sounded flippant as Spock turned around, but his eyes were hard.

 

"Did you really tell him that if he disobeyed you, you would punish him and that he was only forbidden from the crow's nest because he wouldn't be useful there?"

 

Spock sighed, "I did, Captain, but he would not listen to reason. It's dangerous for a man without full use of his hands to climb a rope ladder to a precarious perch that moves. He would not listen to any other arguments, so I used a few of his against him."

 

The Captain looked intently at the wheel as he thought. Spock was taking a lot of interest in the well being of the doctor and Kirk didn't think it was because he had saved Spock's life. There was something compelling about the dynamic between the two of them. There was something that drew them both to each other, even if it only produced an argument. You could see them following each other around, watching each other, circling, like a particularly pernicious game of tag. He wasn't sure what could be done about this.

 

"Spock. I'm not going to worry about this. You shouldn't either. Just let it be. He'll be off the ship soon- by tomorrow at least. You understand that, right?" He finally said. He didn't want to see his friend get hurt. In fact he had never seen Spock so interested in another human being before, but they couldn't just keep the doctor forever. If he didn't want to be there, on a ship like the Enterprise, he could make all their lives a living hell. Plus the fact that it was immoral- kidnapping and all that.

 

"I understand, Captain." Spock said, but it was stiff and brittle and somehow fragile. He was already having a difficult time thinking of letting go. Things had progressed too far already. He needed to speak with Uhura and Chekov and maybe even Scotty. Hell, they could have a ship-wide pow wow about it if the resulting plan made Spock happy and kept the doctor content.

 

Spock walked off to the rail and stared out at the sea. It looked so calm. He had always tried to be like the sea, calm, glassy, deceptive. No one had to know what he was thinking or feeling. It was no concern of theirs and if he was in control of his emotions he had better control of any given situation and could further control the outcome to what he wanted. This had always been the way he had tried to live.

 

Now he felt like he was falling apart and he certainly didn't want his father or mother to see him like this. His father had always been a strict man, not cruel, but quick to correct and very exacting. His childhood had not been all fun and games. Still, if he showed up behaving excessively emotional or irrational his father would not take kindly to the change. Spock had always wanted to prove that the path in life he had taken was not one that would negatively impact him. This involved showing his father that he still lived by his father's teachings. Right now he did not feel much like his father's son.

 

He glanced up at the doctor to see the man squinting at the horizon. He was far above the deck but Spock could see him shielding his eyes from the sun with his arm and leaning over the rail. The doctor looked around on deck and when he spotted Spock watching him he began to gesture at him to come up. Spock quickly moved towards the main mast almost without thinking about it.

 

At the last moment he turned and strode towards the Captain.

 

"Captain, the doctor is... gesturing at me. Shall I go up to him?" Spock asked and pointed. They both looked up at the crow's nest and saw McCoy waving his arms at them and pointing towards the horizon.

 

"I think he sees something." Kirk said, rather obviously.

 

"Clearly." Spock replied.

 

"Well, we should probably find out what." Kirk said, "Why don't you go do that?"

 

"Very well, Captain." Spock replied and began to walk quickly to the main mast. He scaled the rope agilely and wondered about the difficulty it would prove if one's hands were injured. He couldn't really fathom why anyone would be so desperate as to chance it. It wasn't as if the crow's nest was that magnificent.

 

"Spock!" he heard the doctor call down to him from the crow's nest. He hauled himself up next to the doctor.

 

"For future reference, doctor, when you see something you generally yell what it is you see to the deck." Spock said dryly.

 

"I'm just not sure I'm seeing what I think I'm seeing." McCoy said sounding a bit peevish. "There, on the horizon, see that black smudge?"

 

Spock squinted into the distance and saw a small black smudge rising vertically from the horizon, "I see it."

 

"It's not a storm, is it?" McCoy said.

 

"No." Spock replied, not quite sure what it was himself. It couldn't be anything good. There was silence for a moment.

 

"I think it's smoke. I think there's a fire." McCoy said suddenly. Spock was struck by the observation. That must be what it was, but...that was outrageous. A fire that could produce cloud of smoke that large would have to be immense. It would have to be a conflagration of some kind- a veritable firestorm.

 

"Doctor, if you will excuse me. Please continue to monitor the... smoke. If you notice any significant change signal someone on the deck. I will have someone watching." and without waiting for an answer Spock began to make his way down the rope ladder, skipping the last few rungs and sliding down. He strode to the map room and found Mr. Chekov drawing a new course for them.

 

"Mr. Chekov, your skills are required on deck- estimation of an obstruction on the horizon." Spock said, without preamble. Chekov knew to move without question when Spock sounded like that.

 

"Mr. Chekov, what can you tell me about that black smudge on the horizon, simply from a glance?"

 

"Eh, well it's not small and close. It's very large and very far away."

 

"And judging by its position, where on land, would you estimate to be?" Spock pressed.

 

"I would say...sir, I would say it was very near to where Vulcan is, sir, but I could be wrong. I can do some estimates. It doesn't really look like a storm cloud does it?" the young man mused.

 

"No. It does not. We believe it to be... smoke." he managed to choke out. His hands gripped the rail of the Enterprise but they wouldn't stop shaking. "Please inform the Captain that the town of Vulcan is burning."

 

McCoy watched the men on the deck move, watched Spock drag Chekov up on deck and watched them speak, watched Spock fall apart and stare at the horizon silently, motionlessly until Kirk came up next to him and practically pushed him into their shared cabin. He didn't know what was going on, but it didn't seem good. A fire that size couldn't ever be considered good, but he wasn't willing to leave his post on the crow's nest unmanned while he climbed down. His hands were aching a little, so he didn't really mind the delay, but he would have like to know what was going on.

 

It was a good while later before the next man climbed up the to McCoy's little sanctuary. He must have stayed the remaining watch of the man he had replaced earlier on. He climbed slowly, laboriously down the rope ladder to be met by Captain Kirk at the bottom.

 

"You saw." he simply said and thrust his chin at the marred horizon.

 

"Yes." McCoy replied.

 

"I have some bad news." Kirk said, looking him in the eye.

 

"Yeah, I figured." McCoy said, rolling his eyes.

 

"We believe that the town of Vulcan has experienced some kind of disaster and is burning." Kirk said, without sugarcoating, "Our calculations show that the location of the smoke matches the location of the town, and there's no reason why we should think that it's merely a coincidence. With the size of the fire necessary to produce that much smoke there's a good chance that the town has been for the most part destroyed. We can drop you off there if that's still what you want, but you're welcome to stay until the next port we come to."

 

McCoy opened his mouth to reply but was cut off once more by Kirk, "I won't ask you to decide now. You can decide when you see what shape the town is really in. I simply want you to know your options and start thinking about your possible answer. Be careful to make sure that what you decide is what you really want." Kirk said, eyes skipping to the door to his shared cabin and back to McCoy's.

 

McCoy nodded, "I understand." he said.

 

"Good." Kirk said and he turned to go.

 

McCoy shook his head as he glanced at the smudged horizon once again. For a fire to be that size...it was mind-boggling. He could hardly fathom...an entire town in flames. It must be horrible. He walked down to below deck and into the Infirmary to take stock of their supplies. There would be plenty of injuries, he was sure, especially burns. They didn't have too much aloe vera, which of course was best for burns, but they did have a lot of a different compound, which wasn't quite as effective, but would have to do.

 

McCoy sighed and sat on the little cot in the corner. He hated playing the waiting game. It was unusual for a doctor such as he to know that casualties were imminent. Usually he was called as soon as there was a problem that could be fixed and others waited for him. He didn't dawdle, but he wasn't the one doing the waiting. He hated waiting. It was unproductive and a nuisance. His brain always thought too much.

 

McCoy looked up at the ceiling thinking about what he had seen on the deck. Spock had seemed very upset by the situation and who wouldn't be, but he had seemed personally upset. Kirk must know something about him that had to do with this particular town. Chances were that the rest of the crew knew as well. It was possible, he supposed, that Spock knew someone from this particular town. He had heard that pirates or sailors sometimes had women with whom they were regularly intimate, although Spock didn't really seem the type for that. He couldn't imagine the easily affronted man being so forward or improper. Perhaps he was in love, McCoy mused. Pirates could fall in love too he supposed. There was many a scandalous romance novel about pirates in the bookstores of London. His wife had read them and he had picked a few up to see what they were about and they were somewhat entertaining, but overall they ran a little more towards the ridiculous than he tended to like. Granted, given his current situation of being kidnapped by pirates, he probably wasn't one to talk.


	7. Chapter 7

The town was black. Monotone. The ashes had so completely covered everything that not one hint of color peaked out through the destruction. Flames flickered in a few places, little reminders of destruction, little warnings of what could happen if you're not careful. Nothing stood above the height of a man. It had all been destroyed.

 

Embers glowed like the doors to hell under charred wood, the remnants of the lives of people they had known, people they had respected, traded with. Kirk looked over at Spock. These were people they had loved. He moved through the shocked crowd of the crew towards Spock and put his hand on his shoulder in comfort. The man was vibrating with emotion. Kirk could hardly even imagine what it must be like. Spock had grown up there. This was his childhood home reduced to a fire pit. It couldn't be anything less than the most horrible experience of his life, but Kirk had to play Captain now. There were things that needed to be done, plans that needed to be made.

 

"Spread out and search for survivors." He yelled in a general order to all crewmen. That was the most important thing. That was their first priority. He turned to McCoy, who, not being a part of the crew, had not moved.

 

"You should prepare the infirmary." Kirk said to him.

 

He gave Kirk a sober look and nodded. "I'll get my bag and join the search." he said, glancing at Spock as he turned to walk back to the dock.

 

Spock suddenly straightened, "Captain with your permission I would like to join the search for survivors."

 

"Of course, Spock, as soon as we think rationally about this problem. If there were survivors higher up in the mountains who might have fled at the sight of sails how could we signal them that it we are friendly?" Kirk asked slowly.

 

"The best way is to search manually. There is no signal large or loud enough that would be universally recognized." Spock replied distantly.

 

"Go join the search, then." and Spock walked off looking dazed and lost. Kirk shook his head, "There must be a better way than stumbling around through the forest and yelling." His fingers curled into a fist, "Dammit!"

 

In the end it was Uhura and Chapel who found the survivors. They had all gathered together a ways up the mountain and the voices of women had encouraged them to come out of hiding. They had known that the pirates that had done this to them would never have women on board.

 

Word reached the town and Kirk ordered half the crew including himself, Spock and McCoy up the mountain to help the survivors climb down. The two parties met halfway with arm waving and yelling.

 

Spock's eyes lighted on his father and a knot in his chest loosened. They walked to each other and clasped hands, as was proper.

 

"Father." Spock said in greeting, eyes shining with relief.

 

"Son." his father replied, nothing but grief in his expression, "I am sorry, but your mother has passed."

 

Spock could not move or swallow for what seemed like an eternity as he processed the words his father had just spoken to him. He nodded after a moment and turned to join the rest in proceeding down the mountain. The two walked side by side in their mournful silence, not looking beyond the paths in front of their feet, nor thinking of their futures, only of the past. Too soon they reached the town and had nowhere else to walk, no other duties to perform. They sat beside one of the campfires, wary of the flames, hating them, but still dependent on their warmth. They mourned together in the dark in a bubble of solemn silence as the world turned and men worked around them. They may have eaten, might have been given food by someone who had been assigned that task, but they didn't remember.

 

Kirk watched them walk down the mountain and sit, stunned and stoic. He saw McCoy watching them as well and wondered what the doctor was thinking. He looked concerned, but not as if he were about to pry. Kirk could live with that. The doctor had several more patients than he was accustomed to.

 

There were small burns and some wounds from weapons. Not many had survived, only about forty of a town whose original population had been over two hundred. The devastation was horrific.

 

Kirk left Uhura in charge of organizing the sleeping and eating arrangements of the crew and the survivors while he boarded the Enterprise and met with the rest of his commanding officers.

 

"What are we going to do with all these people?" Chekov asked, "They have no livelihood or shelter and no food stocked up. They can't stay here in these conditions, but we can't take forty more people on the Enterprise. There just isn't enough room."

 

"Aye, and plenty o' farmers and townsfolk are stubborn about the places they set their roots down. They might refuse our offer anyway." Scottyy chimed in.

 

"We can't leave them and we can't take them with us. We'll have to stay with them. We can help them rebuild for a while, or at least get them back on their feet and make sure they won't starve."

 

"Captain," Uhura said as she entered the meeting, "We're already low on supplies after that storm. We came here so that we wouldn't starve. How exactly do you plan on feeding these people?”

 

"With the resource I know best, Uhura: the ocean. We'll have people fish, the elderly or the infirm who wouldn't be able to do the rebuilding work anyway. I'm sure there are things that can be foraged for in the mountains. Find someone who knows about the edible plants in this region." Kirk replied.

 

"That isn't going to work forever and we can't live on just fish." Uhura said seriously.

 

"I know, but for now, that's all that we can do, so we should get started so we can move onto other things." Kirk said, trying not to snap at anyone. He knew the situation they were and it was frustrating, but this was the best they could do. They had to accept that and start doing things or accept it and leave this people to starve to death. Kirk wasn't willing to allow the second one to be an option.

 

Kirk joined Spock and his father at their fire and sat sharing their silence for a while. Eventually he spoke, “Sarek, I’m sorry to have to ask you this at such a time, but what exactly happened here?”

 

The old man gathered himself and sighed, “It was Nero- the pirate captain of the Narada. He came to the town and took everything we had of value, promising not to hurt anyone if there was no resistance. I tried to convince the others that he was lying, but there was nothing we could have done either way. The outcome would have been the same, but this way there was a chance, no matter how small. Needless to say, he was lying. He killed many townspeople. The rest of us fled up the mountain. When he was finished he set sail, leaving the town in flames.”

 

Kirk watched Spock’s fists clench tighter and tighter throughout the story. There was very little that could break Spock’s control. They did not come close to the current situation.

 

It wasn’t long before McCoy knew what had befallen the little town- patients that were talking were paying less attention to the scrape you were cleaning out.

 

Pirates. Again. How had his life suddenly begun to revolve solely around the deranged whims of pirates? How was it that the pirates were now rebuilding this town?

 

It was the next day that he was finally not either constantly busy, eating or sleeping. He managed to find most of the senior crewmen having lunch together under a tree. He sat down.

 

“You’re not really pirates, are you?” he said without preamble, “Because pirates are the kinds of people who throw their sick overboard, kill useless prisoners and massacre towns.”

 

McCoy watched their lack of reaction intently. Mostly he was ignored. He got an eye roll from Uhura and a chuckle from Sulu and Scotty.

 

“Care to explain?” he asked frustrated.

 

Uhura gave him a withering look and said, “You can call us whatever you want but don’t make assumptions about what we do or don’t do just because you haven’t see it. And make no mistake- we are pirates.”

 

And that was the end of that discussion.

 

Somehow even given Uhura’s stare of death, McCoy couldn’t bring himself to believe that anyone on the Enterprise was capable of throwing invalids into the ocean or setting towns on fire

 

“Fine-new question, then. Why this town?”

 

“Why make port, or why was it attacked?” Sulu said with his mouth still full.

 

“Both and what does Spock have to do with it?”

 

“The town is big enough to be valuable but small enough to be taken easily. It was close to us when we needed supplies after the storm. This is Spock’s home.” Sulu said bluntly, then continued chewing.

 

McCoy digested the information.

 

“So he had family here.” McCoy said hesitantly.

 

“He still does-at least his father. His mother passed, God rest he soul.” Scotty told him. McCoy glanced up to where Spock sat next to an old man.

 

“Aye that’s his father.” Scotty said.

 

“He’s kept up with his family life as a pirate?” McCoy asked, a bit incredulous.

 

“Well we stop here for supplies sometimes.” Chekov added, “It’s in a good location.”

 

“Yes, but he’s a pirate. Is his family really all right with that? As a matter of fact, you’re all pirates. How did your families take that news? Did your pirate buddies massacre your home towns too?” McCoy asked, enraged. How dared these criminals pretend sympathy? How dare they feign empathy? The crew remained stone-faced except for Uhura, who turned to him and said deathly quiet, “You want to watch what you say, doctor.” And they turned away from him, anger and pain, regret and betrayal clearly written in each of their faces.

 

McCoy waited for more of a response but when he didn’t get one he stood and strode off to check on his patients. These people were impossible to make sense of- absolutely impossible. McCoy returned to his patients, ignoring the crew of the Enterprise for the rest of the day until dinner when somehow he ended up once again sitting with the command crew to share his meal.

 

He stayed mostly silent, watching Spock and only half-listening to the surrounding conversations. When Kirk stated that they were going to stay another two days to help get the town back up on its feet he couldn’t hold his anger in anymore.

 

“Why, so you can come back and pillage it later? You missed your chance this time, but you’re gonna make sure it’s a good take next time?” He said, sneering over his meal at the pirates.

 

“Excuse me?” Kirk said, eyes hard.

 

“Oh come on! You’re pirates! You’re killers and thieves and you’re hunted down like dogs and you want me to believe that you’ve suddenly become the clean up crew for the rest of the pirate fleet? What are you their mothers? You’re remorseless killers and what are you doing? You’re rebuilding a tiny little town that you should be stealing the remaining supplies from. You’re pathetic. I don’t know how you even survive out here.”

 

“Now wait just a god damned minute.” Kirk yelled.

 

“No! You wait, you son of a bitch! This isn’t a fun game of pretend. You’re pirates or you’re not! You can’t just go around terrorizing people without any intention of hurting them. It’s psychological torture and it might be an entertaining game for you, but for the people you kidnap,” and he gestured to himself harshly, “It isn’t fucking funny!” and he slammed his fist down on the table and stormed off.

 

Kirk was clearly enraged by the doctor’s statements and things would have gotten ugly very quickly, although most likely no more ugly than a shouting match- Everyone’s tempers were running high- if not for Spock’s arm snaking out and grabbing his before he could go after the doctor.

 

Spock stood and everyone was silent, “I will speak to him. We are all feeling a little emotional right now.” And he walked stiffly after the doctor. The table remained quiet.

 

“Should someone go after them?” Uhura asked quietly, “This can’t end well, not in this situation, not with them.”

 

“No. At this point nothing can be done. They’ll just have to work through it.” Kirk replied.

 

\---

 

“You are angry.” Spock said as he approached the doctor who was furiously cleaning and organizing the Infirmary.

 

“Yes, I’m angry. I’m angry as hell, aren’t you?” he said.

 

“Yes,” the man replied with utmost calm,” but I do not lash out at those who are not at fault.”

 

McCoy gave him a look, “I don’t see you lashing out at anyone.” McCoy almost wished he would and for a second there was a tremor in the façade when Spock said, “I will.” But he quickly collected himself, “But the issue is your anger and your inability to analyze its true and control it.”

 

“You think you’re not pissing me off?” McCoy asked, daring him to say no.

 

“I believe your anger stems from your lack of control over your situation and your inability to remedy the situation. You need to fix things, don’t you? That’s why you became a doctor.” Spock said, staring into his eyes, “Would you really rather have us killing and pillaging and destroying. We did not name ourselves pirates- we were cast out of society. We don’t have to be what you think we are. You judge us by what others call us. What makes them right? Wouldn’t you rather have all pirates be like us?”

 

McCoy processed this for a few moments, “I would rather cooperate with you than be tricked into helping with false threats. I would rather know why you became pirates, or sea farers if not for the usual reasons.” McCoy sat heavily on the makeshift cot. The Infirmary had remained empty throughout their docking. Despite the number of injured none of the wounds required the Infirmary or constant surveillance.

 

“Captain Kirk and I were already outcasts, or rather prisoners. We were trapped in the societal views assigned to us and were expected to act in the assigned to us and were expected act in the assigned way whether it was good or bad. If we crossed the boundaries of those expectations, we were punished for it. So instead of simply crossing the boundaries we left the territory completely. Out here we can be what we are without consequences.”

 

McCoy snorted, “Sounds a bit reckless to me.”

 

“Perhaps, but it is the truth.” He replied.

 

They sat in silence for a moment reevaluating.

 

“I’m sorry about your mother.” McCoy said finally.

 

“Thank you, doctor. I appreciate the sentiment.” He said quietly. A moment later he continued, “I have been glad to know you, doctor. I shall regret our parting in a few days.”

 

Hearing this McCoy looked up sharply, “Captain Kirk said I had a choice…” but Spock was shaking his head.

 

“The situation has changed. When we leave this town we are going after the Narada. It would be too much danger to put you in.” McCoy sat for a moment. This was unexpected. He would be free in a few days. Somehow he was going to miss this way of life, though, the people, even the ocean.

 

“I guess we’re nearing goodbye then.” McCoy said.

 

“Yes.” Spock replied. They were each quiet, having nothing to say. They remained each lost in their respective thoughts until Spock left, returning to his crew and family, leaving McCoy alone in the Infirmary, as he had been his whole life.


	8. Chapter 8

It was only two days before they had shelter for the remaining townsfolk, meaning everyone had a roof to sleep under. A few of the burnt out shells and proved useful, providing built fireplaces with chimneys. Day and night there were fishing lines in the water monitored by the injured or infirm and during the day scouting parties would forage in the mountain for fruit and game. In addition there were two fully stocked smoke houses further up the mountain, which had completely survived the attack. Also, most of the livestock and fowl had been retrieved.

 

While McCoy did not have much experience with any of these tasks, Spock and Kirk both noticed that he took part as best he could in all of them. It worried Spock somewhat, as McCoy’s hands had not yet fully healed and were still bandaged. Still it wasn’t his place to make remarks.

 

At noon on the third day the Enterprise and all but five of her crew departed Vulcan with heartfelt gratitude and well wishing.

 

Spock approached his father, their goodbye formal and traditional but no less heartfelt. They clasped forearms and Sarek said, “Fair winds to thy sails, my son.”

 

“May they always blow me safely back to my home.” Spock replied. They squeezed each other’s hands, then Spock turned and board the Enterprise taking his place as First Mate. He had planned on wishing the doctor farewell too, but he had not seen the man at all that day and no one else seemed to know where he was. It grieved him to know that he would never see the fiery man again, but he had work to do if he was to avenge his mother and the rest of the town. His throat tightened and he resisted the urge to clench his hands into fists.

 

“Mr. Sulu,” he said, “Prepare to make way.”

 

The sails were hoisted and the anchor weighed and they were moving again towards the infinite horizon and freedom. This had always been Spock’s favorite part of a journey, but somehow it had lost its appeal he noticed as he watched his ravaged home grow smaller. He watched until there was nothing left to see, then Kirk came up to him and they stood shoulder to shoulder. It was just the two of them on the wide blue ocean once again as it had been since their days at the Royal Academy. Spock closed his eyes and took a breath, clearing his mind and leaving behind all of the stresses of family and emotions and responsibility to anyone besides their little floating family, which was more than enough responsibility anyway.

 

“Why don’t you go refamiliarize yourself with the Infirmary? I have a feeling that things have been rearranged and we’ll be needing it when we catch up to Nero.”

 

Spock sighed. Life continued on and waited for no one. He knew this and he had a duty to do. Emotions were useless.

 

“Yes, Captain, I imagine that we will.”

 

He walked down below, lingering in the hallway, his eyes drawn to the door of the guest quarters when he heard a crash and a swear from the Infirmary and was immediately flooded with anger. The thought of someone else in the Infirmary was woefully infuriating.

 

Spock sped down the hall and skidded to a stop in the doorway of the Infirmary where he was momentarily paralyzed, mouth agape.

 

“Oh, Spock, want to give me a hand with this? I dropped it, damn fool that I am.” Said Leonard H. McCoy as he knelt next to a few shards of glass. Spock had no reaction beyond shock.

 

McCoy looked up at him curiously when he did not get a response. He frowned at Spock.

 

“What’s the matter with you? Help or not, but don’t just stand there watching.”

 

There was no mistaking that voice, that tone or inflection, that careful combination of words formed to produce maximum irritation. Spock stooped down and caught McCoy’s bicep, hauling him to his feet and began to drag him down the hallway and up to the deck with McCoy protesting loudly the whole way. Spock heard nothing and did not stop or slow his pace until he burst into the Captain’s side of their shared quarters.

 

“Captain!” he blurted out at his friend, who currently wore only under drawers and was occupied with shaving, suds obscuring his surprised features. The all froze in embarrassed shock for a moment before McCoy violently shrugged off Spock’s arm.

 

“What exactly is this all about, dragging me up here from the Infirmary?” McCoy demanded.

 

“You are not supposed to be here. In case you hadn’t noticed we have already begun to make way. I don’t recall giving you permission to board this vessel, therefore you are a stowaway.” Spock said, angrily.

 

“Spock. I gave him permission.” Kirk said. “I gave him a choice and this is was his decision. We’re going to need his skills, you know. I wanted him here. I thought you would want him here too.”

 

“I wanted him safe, Jim!” Spock yelled before he could stop himself. He spun to face McCoy who registered surprise and then anger.

 

“I’m a grown man. I can take care of myself and I don’t recall asking what you wanted.” He fumed and stalked out the door, slamming it behind him.

 

He couldn’t believe it: the absolute nerve of the man, trying to make his decisions for him. He would show Spock who was worth bringing along.

 

Spock sat on Kirk’s bed as the man wiped the remaining suds from his face without finishing his shave.

 

“I’m sorry, Spock. I thought it would do you some good.” Kirk said, sitting softly next to him.

 

“I just lost my mother, Jim and we are about to enter into a major battle. He’s only a doctor. He doesn’t know how to fight and if they capture him…” Spock shuddered.

 

Kirk looked at the floor, rug covering the bare planks, the skeleton of the Enterprise.

 

“It will be all right. We won’t lose and I promise to make sure that he lives.” Kirk offered. Spock stared into his eyes.

 

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.” He said.

 

Kirk grinned, “You calling me a liar?”

 

Spock smiled, the corner’s of his lips quirking up ever so slightly, “Yes, Jim. You’re a liar and a scoundrel and the most honorable man I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

 

“The same is true of you, my friend. The same is true of you.”

 

“There is only one other similarly sized town anywhere near here. Nero would never strike this port. This town must be his target.” Chekov explained to the command crew. McCoy was hanging around in the room as he had been playing cards with Scotty, Sulu and Uhura before the meeting had started and damn was that woman ever a card shark.

 

“That’s getting a mite close to the Navy, isn’t it?” Scotty mentioned, “They use that port plenty.”

 

Kirk frowned as he leaned against the wall.

 

“We’ll chance it.” He decided. “If we alert the Navy ships there, then no matter the outcome of the battle, Nero will be finished. When can we expect to catch up with them?”

 

“It’ll take two days at least.” Chekov told him, “But if we wait until near evening of the second day we can catch him hear and force him towards the reefs. His ship is bigger, but our maneuverability is far superior to his.”

 

Kirk nodded, “Do it.” He turned to Uhura as Sulu and Chekov went to adjust the helm and make a few last minute calculations, “How much ammunition are we carrying?”

 

“Not as much as I’d like, Captain.” She said, “We dumped plenty during the storm, seeing as it’s the heaviest thing we carry. We have probably ten shots per cannon, both sides. We have plenty of gunpowder, though, and the, “she coughed and her eyes skittered towards McCoy. The rest of the crew turned to look at him. He shrugged in innocence, eyes wide.

 

“Anyway, we’re outgunned, outmanned and outmatched as usual. We’ll do fine, especially if we can get them onto the reefs. In addition if we attack late enough in the evening, if we run into trouble we can hold out until night and escape.” She reported.

 

“Right.” Kirk said. “Run a few drills with the cannons, if you please, and Scotty…”

 

“Aye, sir?” the Scotsman looked a bit too eager. Kirk sighed.

 

“See if you can’t rig something up that will work well with certain things and give us an advantage.” He said vaguely.

 

McCoy threw his hands in the air in exasperation. What did they think he was going to do, shout their plans across to the evil pirates as if his life didn’t depend, just as much as everyone else’s, on their victory?

 

Kirk smirked at him and shrugged. He suppressed the urge to make a gesture and simply rolled his eyes.

 

This only made Kirk grin. Spock, who had been silent the whole time stood suddenly and exited.

 

“Oh!” Kirk said after he had left, “I think he’s jealous of our ability to communicate silently.” Kirk batted his eyelashes at McCoy who simply looked rather frightened for a moment before once more rolling his eyes.

 

“Yes, I had forgotten,” McCoy said sarcastically as he rose and walked out the door, “You’re god’s gift to the world. How could anyone resist your manly charms?”

 

Kirk crossed his arms. That man was immensely dense.

 

“That wasn’t what I meant, fool.” He said out loud.

 

The entire crew had noticed. For the past two days every time one of them entered a room that the other occupied there was a hush, recognition, an intensity. It was amazing that no one had locked them into a small room together yet although Kirk had a feeling that Uhura, Sulu and Chekov were planning to soon if nothing else worked.

 

Kirk thought simply talking to them might actually help.

 

He cornered McCoy in the Infirmary.

 

“So, do you know why Spock, Scotty and I left the Royal Academy?” he asked from his perch on the examination table after McCoy had ignored his presence for a few minutes.

 

“You were feeling restrained by society’s expectations and craved freedom?” McCoy guessed from nearly inside a cupboard.

 

“Sugarcoated.” Kirk said, waving the explanation aside, “There was one reason in particular.”

 

McCoy straightened and pulled out a roll of bandages, “Well are you going to tell me or do you just love to hear yourself talk? Wait, don’t answer that.” He said.

 

“Ha ha.” Kirk replied childishly, swinging his legs back and forth over the edge, “It’s because we aren’t considered normal. Certain of our tastes run contrary to those considered…proper.” Kirk said, leering pointedly.

 

McCoy gave him a piercing stare, “If you’re trying to scare me you’ll have to do better than that. I lived in London for four years while I went to school. Do you have any idea what happens in those dormitories at night?” he said seriously.

 

Then he laughed at the shock and dismay that crossed Kirk’s face. He stood and leaned close to Kirk, inserting himself between the man’s legs and placing one hand on his thigh.

 

“Don’t think that just because I don’t live on a little boat in the middle of nowhere that I’m not just as depraved as the whole lot of you.” He said swaying inches away from Kirk’s lips, eyes flicking to Kirk’s lips then back up to his wide blue eyes. McCoy thought he heard a choked noise come from near the door, but assumed it must be Kirk.

 

Suddenly Kirk was scrambling over the other side of the table to floor.

 

“You…” he spluttered, “You seducer!” Kirk yelled in falsetto and he flounced out the door with a grin or a pout, depending on his fluctuating acting skills.

 

McCoy laughed, loudly. He shook his head, but frowned as a sudden thought occurred to him. He hadn’t laughed this much since…medical school, probably. This gave him pause and he wondered whether there was something horribly wrong with him for enjoying this side trip on the road of his life.

 

Kirk could tell there was something wrong when he enter his shared quarters and saw Spock standing, waiting for him.

 

“Spock. Something’s wrong.”

 

“Jim, what exactly are your intentions towards the doctor?” Spock said simply.

 

“I intend to keep him alive and as well as possible during our battle and that’s as far as I intend anything towards the doctor. Spock, what is this about?”

 

“Just now,” Spock began, “Just now I saw you and he looking rather…close.”

 

Kirk’s eyes widened and Spock’s narrowed.

 

“Oh! No, Spock. He was just getting back at me for trying to get under his skin. That meant absolutely nothing in the way you think. In fact, it was probably a good thing to have happen. Now we know that he’s more open-minded than most. You should start courting him!” Kirk babbled.

 

“Jim, I will thank you to stay out of my love life in any and every capacity.” Spock said peevishly.

 

Kirk grumbled and crossed his arms. “You’ll thank me later.” He said.

 

\---

 

They weren’t really ready when it happened. McCoy, Scotty, Sulu and Uhura were playing their usual card game. Spock was on deck. Chekov was going over his maps and Kirk was taking a nap.

 

The man on duty in the crow’s nest yelled for all hands and the ship erupted into a flurry of activity. Stations were manned. Guns were prepared. Cannons were loaded. They hadn’t been quite ready when they had gotten their first glimpse of the Narada, but they were damn near.

 

The Narada had been laying low in one of the sheltered bays of the coastline, so that by the time they had caught sight of the ship they were less than 2 leagues away from her. It was too close for comfort. Luckily it put the Enterprise in the perfect position to run the Narada up on the fast approaching reefs of the shore.

 

The wind was strong and the air was crisp. There were no clouds in the sky. It looked like a perfect day to wreak some destruction.

 

McCoy stood on deck. They were still at least a league away from the enemy ship. This was a waiting game. They wouldn’t be fighting until the Narada became desperate enough in the face of the reefs to try to force their way past the Enterprise.

 

It didn’t take long for the Narada to become aggressive and begin to try to muscle its way past the Enterprise, which did not give them any slack. The ships approached each other at painfully slow angles. The Narada fired a warning shot and the battle began.

 

The Enterprise took a hit and McCoy was thrown to the deck, unused to the sudden shaking. He’d been helping load cannons, fetching and carrying gunpowder. Explosions were ripping across the deck, throwing people down in shock waves of dry force and fire. He tried to find Spock through the smoke, every once in a while, but didn’t catch many glimpses. Eventually there was nothing he could do but keep putting his feet in front of him until the first casualties. He saw men ripped literally in half by cannon balls. He ignored them and moved to the men with shrapnel digging into their guts and did what he could for them. He moved them to below deck where it may or may not have been safer.

 

At one point he bandaged Kirk’s arm and he saw Chekov pass him a few times, but that’s all he knew. He went below deck to get more bandages and when he stumbled back on to the smoky loud battlefield that the once peaceful deck had become the Narada was towering over them only yards away. There were enemy pirates on the Enterprise and it was deeply disturbing at a purely primal level. He kept low and moved quickly from man to man, stuffing intestines back into stomachs, reattaching limbs as best he could, not looking at the faces of his patients, not realizing who he was treating. He did’t want to know. He treated enemy pirates, too. He would have anyway, even if it had registered who he was working on at any given time.

 

Within minutes the bandages on his hands are stained red with the blood of at least twenty different men. He had no sense of time. Adrenaline had robbed him of that, but he didn’t care. All that mattered were the people in front of him, stopping the blood, keeping the heart beating. He did what he could and it was little enough. He saw Sulu carried below deck and an explosion rocked the Enterprise. There was fire climbing through the ropes of the Narada and the sails burned long and hot. The Enterprise caught fire too but there was some system in place to put the fires out.

 

McCoy didn’t notice that the battle was over until Kirk pulled him away from a man he was busy rudimentarily setting the leg of and yelled at him to get to Scotty, who was below deck. Kirk, apparently knew more about the medical arts than he let on.

 

Scotty was in bad shape. He was stabbed in the back but it’s the fact that his stomach was pierced that will cause the most problems. McCoy went to work immediately, slicing through skin and muscle to get to the delicate membrane. He sewed the man back together again, washed out the acid as best he could, then sealed up the outer layer and moved on. There were others and there was nothing more he could do.

 

He saw Uhura for her leg. He saw Chekov for his shoulder; it was dislocated. He stitched up Kirk’s arm this time, in addition to just bandaging it. He saw Sulu for another head wound that could go either way. He still wasn’t sure. He didn’t see Spock until he was running out of severe injuries to treat. These were mere splinters compared to what he had done for others.

 

He felt an abnormally warm hand on his shoulder and turned away from tying up a bandage. It was exactly who he wanted to see and he practically collapsed into the man’s arms. He could tell that Spock was surprised. He stiffened, but then melted into the embrace, practically holding McCoy up all by himself. He half-dragged the doctor to the cot in the Infirmary and ordered him to sleep.

 

McCoy couldn’t hear anything clearly. Everything seemed a little dull, a little blurred. He obeyed the muffled orders and drifted into a light and restless sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

McCoy woke only a few hours later and immediately began to check the status of his patients. Scotty was still alive and that was really something. Stomach wounds were tricky. Sulu had woken up, but someone very intelligent had made sure that he stayed at least sitting. A few of the men had passed, mostly the one’s that McCoy had thought would. There was nothing he could have done. He told himself this over and over even though, as in the past, it never seemed to help.

 

He reached the deck and immediately headed for Spock and Kirk.

 

“You should probably be resting.” He told Kirk, whose arm was thankfully in a sling.

 

Kirk shrugged and it was probably the first time he had ever seen the man truly melancholy. He wasn’t really surprised.

 

“So.” He said, “We won.”

 

“Yes,” Spock replied but both his and Kirk’s eyes were glued to the horizon. McCoy followed their gazes and saw a sail.

 

“Navy.” He breathed out in a soft gasp. He recalled the discussion about the proximity of the Navy and the danger of being discovered after the battle. He realized then that this had been very close to a suicide mission. That had been why Spock had been so disturbed to learn that he had decided to embark with them. He sagged next to both men.

 

“Is there no chance that we’ll be able to outrun them?” he asked.

 

“None whatsoever. Even if the winds were in our favor, which they are not, we cannot currently outrun a Navy ship of that size.” Spock replied with no expression.

 

They stood in both righteous victory and utter defeat for a moment before Spock spoke again, “You will most likely be fine, doctor. You were, after all, our captive.” And he gave a wry smile that looked a bit painful.

 

McCoy felt despair rising once again. He had been through so much with these men and women. He had nothing to look forward to getting back to. He shook his head. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.

 

“I should go…check on Scotty.” He said and slumped back to the Infirmary all the while trying fruitlessly to think of a way to save them from the ridiculous standards of society. True, they were criminals, but they had done a hell of a lot of good as far as McCoy could tell. It must balance out somehow.

 

McCoy did the rounds once more before once more falling into a restless sleep.

 

\---

 

He woke to soft voices and Navy uniforms in his Infirmary. He sat bolt upright and stared. There were Kirk and Spock and an older man in Navy uniform all looking at him curiously now. He must look a bit dreadful and probably still bloody now that he thought about it. He was about to run a hand through his hair in reflex, but remembered that his hands were still bandaged and would snag.

 

“I apologize for waking you, Doctor McCoy. I don’t believe we’ve met but I’ve heard a great deal about you.” The man in the Navy uniform offered his hand, “I am Admiral Christopher Pike.”

 

McCoy shook his hand and stood, then abruptly sat back down, swaying slightly. Spock was kneeling next to him.

 

“Doctor, when was the last time you ate?” he asked.

 

“Hnngh…” he couldn’t remember. Not yesterday, or maybe, what day was it anyway? He heard Kirk and the Admiral- Pike, speaking in the background, but Spock was right in front of him. His head collapsed to rest upon Spock’s shoulder. He breathed in the scent of the man and buried his face in the man’s neck.

 

He couldn’t hear Pike or Kirk anymore. He was gently laid back upon the cot and was extracted from Spock’s arms.

 

“I will bring you some food, doctor. Please remain horizontal.” McCoy heard him say, but didn’t really fully understand. He was asleep as soon as the door closed again.

 

The next time McCoy woke there was a tray of food next to the cot and one day from Vulcan. They planned to rebuild everything in the secluded town, including the Enterprise.

 

McCoy ate ravenously and went to check on his patients. Everyone was doing well for the most part. There were a few small infections, which, while dangerous, could be easily dealt with. Scotty was even awake for a short amount of time. McCoy almost thought Uhura was crying when she saw his eyes open. McCoy finished his check up quickly and left the two alone.

 

After his patients his first priority was finding out what exactly had occurred that had cause this complete lack of hostility between the Navy and the pirates. He found Spock, Kirk and Pike sitting on the deck in truly ingenious collapsible chairs. He approached them and found them amiably discussing plans for the rebuilding of Vulcan.

 

As he neared them they rose to greet him.

 

“Dr. McCoy. I’m not sure you remember me.” The admiral said.

 

“I remember, Admiral Pike, although I’m still a bit confused.” McCoy said. The Admiral looked towards Spock and then at Kirk.

 

“It’s all right.” Kirk said, “He’s practically one of us now.” And Kirk’s eyes shone at McCoy with a suspicious mischief. This made McCoy a bit nervous.

 

“Captain Kirk and the Enterprise are part of the Navy.” Pike said. “They work undercover and most of the Navy isn’t even aware of their existence.”

 

McCoy stared. This was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. The Navy had kidnapped him. The undercover Navy ship pretending to be pirate ship had kidnapped him.

 

“You’re not pirates.” McCoy said slowly. Kirk was grinning at him like a moron. They had let him believe all this time…and before McCoy realized it his fist was feeling a little sore and Kirk was on the deck with a hand to his jaw. Spock and the Admiral moved between him and Kirk.

 

“You son of a bitch.” He said, incredulously. “I can’t believe you all! None of you even hinted. Do you know what I’ve been going through? Shit.” He said, turning away from the men to collect himself, “You would be Navy.” He muttered darkly and shook his head.

 

Spock moved to take his arm but he wrenched out of his grasp, “Don’t touch me.” He snapped and went below.

 

He was behaving irrationally, he knew, but honestly, they had let him believe for days that his life was in danger, that he had fallen in with murderers. He could have worried so much less. He sighed and sank into his bed in the guest room, before he realized that he wasn’t quite sure it was his anymore.

 

He rose and went to the door but he opened it just in time to reveal Spock about to knock on the door. He slid into the room and shut the door behind him.

 

“I apologize, doctor, for the distress our falsehoods must have caused you. I regretted them, but they were for your safety and ours. We were duty bound to keep them to the best of our abilities.”

 

McCoy sighed, “I understand. I’m just frustrated and…” he threw his hands in the air, “I don’t know. I was taken by surprise, I suppose. It was a bit of a shock.” He admitted, “How’s Kirk’s face.”

 

Spock almost smirked, which also surprised McCoy, “He will recover. He’s had worse.”

 

McCoy shook his head, “I still can’t believe…and all this time. Well, I am a bit relieved. I doubt I would be alive if you were anything like real pirates. You know I really believed you were pirates, of a sort.” McCoy laughed, “And after all that bullshit about pirates being misunderstood outcasts of society.”

 

Spock stood stiffly before him.

 

“You have something to say.” McCoy stated. Spock nodded.

 

“Now that you know the truth I have a proposition for you. Our crew is still incomplete. We will need a ship’s surgeon and we have all seen that your work is exemplary. I have already gained permission from the Captain to invite you to join the crew of the Enterprise permanently as the Senior Medical Officer.”

 

“Who will I be working under? How much control does the Navy have over us?” McCoy asked.

 

“We are directly under the command of Admiral Pike, who affords us much lenience due to his personal relationship with the captain. As for you personally, you would be subject only to the commands of the first mate and captain, but you would also have the power to override any orders for medical reasons.” Spock explained.

 

“Yes.” McCoy said as soon as Spock finished speaking. Spock paused.

 

“That’s all you wanted to know before you agreed?” Spock asked, incredulous.

 

“Yes. I want to stay here. I don’t have anywhere to go and I’ll have enough freedom to satisfy me. This is what I want.” McCoy decided.

 

“Very well.” Spock replied, he surveyed the room idly, “Perhaps we will be able to find a way to retain these rooms as your quarters. I will go inform the Captain.” He said and walked out, pausing only at the doorway.

 

“I am glad, very glad that you will be staying.” Spock said and walked out.

 

McCoy blinked and steepled his fingers considering his decision and his journey with these “pirates” so far. He considered Spock and their interactions.

 

He smiled.

 

It was a week before the town has more than four buildings. It was another two before they were anywhere near sustainable. The Enterprise was taking a little longer to fix, due to the lack of ship building supplies. Admiral Pike had sent for supplies and gone to retrieve them and a few more artisans and workers.

 

It was in the third week that a memorial was held for those who had died in the massacre and those who had die fighting against Nero.

 

On the Monday of the fifth week the Enterprise was that much closer to her former glory and the town was nearly completely finished. The “pirates” would be leaving soon and it was decided that a celebration was in order.

 

During these weeks McCoy had gotten to know his new crewmates much better. Now that he was in on the secret he was fully welcomed into the family and the difference was tangible.

 

Sulu began to teach him simple fighting styles so that he would be able to defend himself. He had drinking contests with Chekov. He was helping Scotty return to his former health and meanwhile learning all about the inner workings of the ship. He discussed literature and poetry with Kirk and Uhura showed him the logistical side of keeping a ship afloat. There was a lot more paperwork than one would expect pirates to be required to do.

 

Then there was Spock, who had been avoiding him until a few days.

 

It had been Friday when the two had been ordered by the Captain to go on a foraging mission with others. They were to make a pair. Unfortunately the terrain had been rather rocky and it had been raining earlier that day. McCoy, who was unused to such rocky territory had slipped and twisted his ankle. He had refused to be carried but had accepted some support. Kirk had looked a little disappointed when they had arrived with Spock only half-supporting McCoy with an arm around his waist.

 

On Saturday he and Spock had been “accidentally” locked into a small closet together. Uhura had let them out looking a bit more than slightly pissed off. Things were getting a little out of control. Luckily no one had enough time on Sunday to play any jokes or really do anything besides prepare for the celebration on Monday.

 

It was mid evening when Kirk found McCoy and lead him off to speak with him privately, perhaps an hour before the party was supposed to start.

 

“McCoy, why don’t you just ask him?” Kirk asked him bluntly. McCoy flushed. He hadn’t given any outside indication of his…preference for the tall, dark haired man. He hadn’t thought he had, anyway.

 

“I…” McCoy said, but found that there was really no response he could make.

 

“When you decided to come with us up against the Narada you told me that you had always taken the safest road in you old life. You told me that you had never taken a chance or been spontaneous and that that was what had caused you to lose everything, including your wife. Did you ever think that maybe by taking a chance you have everything to gain.”

 

McCoy looked down. He had said those things. He had meant them too and he did want…

 

“Even if you didn’t have everything to gain,” Kirk said, catching his attention once more, “You have nothing to lose, I promise you.”

 

McCoy nodded and sat to think. Kirk pressed a hand onto McCoy’s shoulder and left.

 

 

“You love him.” Uhura said to him in his quarters. The captain was not present.

 

Spock was silent. There was no response he could make that would express the turmoil he was experiencing concerning the matter of Leonard McCoy.

 

“Just let him know that you care. Even if he doesn’t reciprocate, he’ll appreciate the sentiment.” Uhura said.

 

Spock remained silent, giving no hint of his emotional state.

 

“I have never seen you more openly affectionate towards another person. I know that you’re afraid of spending your life alone. Take a chance, Spock. Let go of what makes perfect sense. People aren’t variables in an equation.” Uhura continued.

 

Spock stared at the floor. Uhura sighed and pressed a light kiss to the top of his head.

 

“Think about it.”

 

 

The celebration was an immense success. Everyone attended, even Scotty for a while before he was tired out. Spock and McCoy spent the evening circling each other warily, getting gradually closer and eventually, as the party reached it’s peak, they met at the edge of the area that had been cleared for dancing and by mutual unspoken decision they wandered off towards the edge of the forest at the foot of the mountain.

 

The walked in the moonlight enjoying their silence and the nervous anticipation and the sound of the celebration fading into the background.

 

“Spock, I…” McCoy started to say as they paused in their walk, “I’m not sure how to say this.”

 

“Dr. McCoy, I believe you say it like this.” And Spock turned to face McCoy and cupped McCoy’s face in his hands, “Leonard McCoy, I believe I am in love with you.” And he pressed his lips onto McCoy’s softly, and released him, waiting for an answer.

 

“Damn pirate.” McCoy said, smiling more widely than Spock had ever seen him, “You stole my heart.” He said and wrapped his arms around the taller man pulling him in for a kiss. They held tightly to each other, all the stress of the past few months channeled into their passion for one another.

 

Their tongues danced and their breath mingled. Their hands ran along muscle and slipped into clothes, undid fastenings, untied ties, removed and soothed.

 

There was no moon that night. There was much more.


End file.
